Dawn of Balance
by Werde Spinner
Summary: Trying to save the Lehran she knew, Yune arranges matters so that Sephiran meets a few crucial people in his journeys across Tellius. Wildly and gloriously AU, with unavoidable but hopefully likeable OC's. I promise, there will be no more romance than is canon.
1. Introduction

**Dawn of Balance**

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

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Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

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Introduction

There was a different feel to the air in Daein than there was in Begnion, Sephiran reflected.

The very magics riding the breeze, the ever-present inaudible murmur of spirits that those trained in the arcane arts could hear, the very thoughts of the land beneath his feet and the slow, steady life of the plants- all were different. Begnion's magics were more settled and stable, as befitted a country that had been civilized for millennia. The more pernicious spirits of darkness and chaos had been exorcized from its borders by vigilant bishops and saints from various monasteries, bound by spells and rites or killed outright by high-grade light magic. The muted rumbling thoughts of the earth below were subdued and sluggish, the vague awareness of a land that had been tamed and which had accepted its domesticated fate.

Daein was another story altogether. Here, everything was wild and rough, a harsh, untamed landscape ranging from the wind-lashed desert on the far border of the country and the jagged, snow-capped mountains to the very floods of Talrega and the marshes of Shifu Swamp. The land possessed a certain awareness here that had gone dormant in Begnion. It had not yet been beaten down into a state where it would meekly accept being pasture for cattle and horses and a fertile fields for crops. The Daein landscape was still considering hostilities against the humans who dug into it with plows and who hacked down its trees for firewood with sharp-edged axes.

The magics, too, of Daein were rough and masterless. They were harsh, as snapping and bitterly cold as the winter winds, stinging like embers of a good blast of Elfire. The spirits were not much better. There were few light spirits here. A week or more occasionally passed before Sephiran made contact with one. They always seemed surprised to see him, but they never refused to help him. Despite the path he had bound himself too, they could still see the goddess's mark of favor upon him, and dared not refuse it.

It did not surprise Sephiran unduly to find large quantities of anima spirits in Daein. Anima spirits were the most plentiful, of course, and they liked to congregate in areas further removed from people, in the wildernesses. What did surprise him was the unusual amount of dark spirits- not merely chaos spirits, like Fenrir, but downright evil ones, like Baal and Zorgoth and Enkidu. Upon further reflection, however, the matter had become clear to him: the evil spirits that bishops had exorcized out of Begnion had simply come to the closest available haven, here in Daein.

That still did not explain why so many of them had decided to gather near this one particular town.

Halting on the dirt track leading to the unkempt municipality, Sephiran paused to study it more closely. It looked no different than any other average-sized town in Daein. A sort of rude wooden palisade had been erected around it, as a protection against bandits and wild animals- and, no doubt, also against the laguz the Daeins were so fond of hunting down with spears and bows, as if they were running down a wild boar.

He had chanced upon a party of drunken men returning successfully from one such hunt as this not three days ago, and had unfortunately caught a glimpse of the mangled carcass they had borne aloft as a gruesome trophy. Enough of it was intact for him to recognize it as a young tiger, malnourished by the look of the ribs protruding from his sides. The odds were that he had been an escapee from Begnion, and had been misfortunate enough to try to hide from his former master in Daein of all places.

Only the goddess knew which place was worse for laguz, Begnion or Daein.

Chaos spirits and evil spirits liked to gather when such hunts were afoot, Sephiran had learned. The metallic smell of blood and the negative energy released by the hatred of the pursuers and the hatred of the pursued always drew them, like vultures to carrion.

Yet Sephiran did not note here the concentration of the darker spirits he had come to associate with murderous doings. Instead, his magical senses offered him a panorama of a wide selection of dark spirits, ranging from the generic ones whom the Begnion monasteries had not even gotten around to naming, to stronger chaos ones who incited jealousies and preyed on men's emotions, to a couple of the suspiciously strong, evil ones. Sephiran could have sworn he caught a glimpse of Baal, but the spirit whisked out of his range before he could tell for sure. He had never personally tangled with the spirit in the past, but he had heard of a few of its deeds and he had seen the tome usually used to interact with it, Balberith, enough times to recognize its spirit when he saw it.

The matter was not too much of a cause for concern, however. Only the most suicidal of spirits would risk a fight with him. The most even the malicious ones would attempt to try with him would be minor inconveniences. They might not try that now, however; the dark spirit Carrow had tried to snatch his bookbag a couple weeks ago, when he had first entered Daein.

Sephiran had never been in the habit of blasting spirits when he felt like it, so if it had been a different spirit he might have overlooked it, or let it off with a warning. Carrow, however, might have been able to cause serious damage if it had managed to activate the selection of dark tomes he had stashed in his bag. Annoyed, Sephiran had drawn out a Shine and pulverized Carrow. The Shine had been overkill, perhaps, but it had felt good. He had not even needed to activate Corona.

He had yet to see if Carrow's example would motivate other dark spirits to be more respectful around him. They had mostly avoided him since then, though, he had to admit.

To tell the truth, he would have sooner expected to see such darkness spirits in Begnion of late than in Daein.

Sephiran closed his eyes as he thought of the events of a few months ago, flames scorching the trees…

He had lost Yune, but he had sworn he would find her again. Terrified by whatever darkness had killed Empress Misaha and then whipped the Begnion people into slaughtering defenseless herons, the spirits had not been as helpful as they would have been ordinarily. Even the usually obliging wind spirits feared something so much they could only whisper words of advice and assist him with minor things.

The thing about spirits was that they were so overlooked. The ordinary person taken to a monastery after some accident never really questioned what took place when a harried priest tending to the injured used his staff to treat the wound. The ordinary man saw the staff glow, he felt the magical coolness enter his body and seal up his wound, and he was not motivated to think more about it.

All magic, however, began and ended with the spirits. Any maker of magical tomes or staves could testify to that. Staves collected healing energy from the spirits, which a priest would be trained to activate using his or her own magic. Tomes, however, were less passive. Tomes were traditionally written in the ancient language, the language of the spirits, the language that the herons had spoken…

Again before his eyes flashed hideous images of a once lush and green forest tangled with terrible flame, the cries of a maddened populace resounding through the trees as they rushed forward, even killing each other in their thoughtless haste to avenge their beloved Apostle…

It might have been several centuries since a true galdr had crossed his lips, but he remained a heron at heart. And his heart had bled for his people. He would have liked to die with them that night. But he could not. Nothing could kill him. He had been marked as the goddess's favorite, and nothing could kill him. He could not even kill himself. He had begged Dheginsea, once, to put an end to his misery. Dheginsea had refused.

And since he could not die, every day now he had to live with the memories of the way his people had died, trapped in the flames of the forest that had been their sanctuary.

Perhaps the worst part about it was that this was not the first time he had lost his family.

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**Author's Notes:**

Hello, Spinner here. This is my first fanfiction, and, no, I will not beg, sniveling, for you to be nice to me because of that. As a matter of fact, flame away! I will use the flames to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.

First off, I will admit to playing _Radiant Dawn_ only once and _Path of Radiance_ never (I suppose watching lots of playthroughs on YouTube doesn't count?), but I have a great affection for the characters and have researched both games thoroughly for this fanfic. Did you know that there is an official timelime for the Tellius games? Well, there is.

Now, in most fandoms I prefer canon. However, my ideas for fanfiction usually revolve around just one thing happening differently and, because of it, all later events going wildly AU. That is the case with this fic.

Ever since I first learned about RD, I considered Sephiran one of the most, if not _the_ most pivotal character. I always felt sorry for him. I noticed that Yune says to Sephiran in the Tower: "I'm so sorry! During your darkest hour, I couldn't help you! I'm so sorry!" _Then_ I remembered that she has been hanging around Micaiah in orange tweety bird form, giving her plot-appropriate visions, and leading Rafiel, Nailah, and Volug across the Desert of Death, among other things. She could have _totally_ helped Sephiran in his darkest hour.

So, in this fic I've decided to explore what could have happened had Yune actually tried to help Sephiran by causing him to meet various people across Tellius after he left Goldoa.

In writing Sephiran, I also discovered that he is canonically somewhat bipolar. Whenever he acts as Lehran, he shows the typical timidness, uncertainty and passivity of 'normal' herons, such as Rafiel. (Notice his conversations with Misaha and also with Ike after he's recruited.) However, as Sephiran he has the iron will of Reyson, coldly calculating to bring about the end of the world so he can die himself. He manipulated _the senators of Begnion_, for crying out loud. He inspired Zelgius to commit his unswerving allegiance to him. He snarks at Ike and co. when they arrive at the top of the Tower: "I suppose that just leaves our fight to the death to take care of… I'd hate to see you denied after coming all this way."

In trying to shape his character, I decided to go with the more amusing option, i.e., the iron-willed, snarky, somewhat crazed ex-heron. I figured he could not have stood up to a goddess and defied Dheginsea to his face ("HOLD, I SAY!") without having _some_ Reyson-like traits. Of course, making Sephiran more decisive has had some interesting and unexpected effects upon the plot of my fic.

While researching Sephiran's past, I also noticed how _wonky_ some things about the connections between PoR and RD are. It is my belief that many things were made up on the spot for RD (e.g., Micaiah's existence, Soren's heritage, and the blood pacts, for starters) and were _not_ meshed with existing info in PoR very well. Tellius's official timeline raises more questions than it solves. Therefore, I have decided to deal with inconsistencies by either coming up with an explanation that makes sense to me, or by changing circumstances to make sense. I will also be exploring private headcanons of my own. I shall try to explain what I am doing as I go along. Please bear with me. If I haven't done a good enough job explaining, let me know and I will have another go.

To name one major contradiction, in PoR Lehran is said to be the forefather of the heron race. In RD, he was a 1000-year-old heron who joined Ashera's Three Heroes and passed down his gift of hearing the voice of the goddess to the empresses of Begnion. Therefore, the heron race must only be 1000 years old—but Nealuchi is said to be 10,000 years old himself! It is things like this that led me to throw my hands up in the hair and decide to make sense of things in my own fashion by changing what I deemed to be stupid inconsistencies. If the script writers at Intelligent Systems couldn't be bothered to keep their games consistent, I can most certainly attempt to make a unified, consistent, consolidated history out of Tellius.

So I have decided that Lehran truly is the eldest of the herons as well as the heron who married Altina. Trying to figure out why he is still alive, I reasoned that his status as the Apostle of the Goddess (an office the Empresses of Begnion inherited from him) must have involved some sort of blessing, like that which Ashera gave the Three Heroes. Since his blessing was given by Ashunera, however, it is much, much stronger than that which Ashera and Yune bestowed, and it has made him functionally immortal.

Explaining my view of FE's magic would probably also help. I have read some of the manga for FE1 and remembered the part where Merric had to forge a pact with the spirits to be able to use Excalibur. Also, he is shown practicing a spell and invoking the spirits in his attack. I reasoned, therefore, that magic in FE comes from the spirits and the spells found in tomes forge a temporary pact between the spirits and the magic user, allowing him to borrow their magic. This is why all magic must be done in the language of the spirits.

Also, since Sephiran is surrounded by actual spirits when you fight him in the Tower of Guidance, I figured he, and other herons by extension, are able to magically sense the presence of the spirits and converse with them. Sephiran is just extremely adept at this, due to being the Apostle – or, due to having been the Apostle, since he has sort of lost that.

So I have thought out an entire system of light spirits, anima spirits (fire, lightning, and wind), and darkness spirits. Also, not all spirits are kindly. Some are evil and have foul designs in Tellius, but to tell you what their plans are would be to spoil the surprise…

I think that covers everything for this chapter. Not that this was much of a chapter, though; it's really an introduction, to set the stage for the rest of the story. It will be a long and messy adventure, I promise you! Will you come on an adventure with me?

First, for a six-chapter flashback of all the events that have led to Sephiran overlooking this small town in rural Daein…

Spinner here, signing out.


	2. Balance Destroyed

**Dawn of Balance**

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_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

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Balance Destroyed

Likely a side-effect of the blessing Ashunera had given him, Sephiran's memory had never faltered in all the thousands of years he had dwelt in Tellius. Soan had jokingly called him "the goddess's favorite" once or twice, and perhaps that was true. He was Ashunera's eldest child left, the only survivor of the forgotten era of the Zunanma.

No living creatures had been there to witness the sight of Ashunera first emerging from the dawn, its ruddy glow bequeathed to her long red hair and gentle red eyes. No one had been there when the countless spirits of Tellius sprang into being at her call, light and anima and dark spirits beyond count. No one had been there when the first green life unfolded upon the rich face of the lands of Tellius.

Ashunera had been alone in the world. The spirits accompanied her, but they could not match material creatures for friends.

Then the Zunanma had developed, a motley race of part-animal, part-human creatures, some with feathered wings, some with dragon scales, some with furry paws, some with nothing more than hair and blunted nails on their fingers and toes. They had gathered around Ashunera, hailing her as the Maiden of Dawn, their race's goddess.

She had been delighted by them, finding at last friends and children she could call her own. She had cherished them dearly, for she saw in them reflected the orderliness of her own nature, chaos and nature balanced perfectly.

However, life never remains static, and the Zunanma, too, continued to grow and develop. The wingless ones, with no fur and no scales, multiplied with others of their own kind, becoming the beorc. The others, whether they were differentiated by wings, scales, or fur, were called the laguz. Unlike the beorc, who maintained a general overall similarity despite minor discrepancies in hair and skin tones, great variety could be observed even among the bird, beast, and dragon tribes of the laguz.

The herons had been the first species of the laguz to be fully developed, followed shortly thereafter by the dragons. Lehran himself had truly been the first heron. He remembered his first flash of consciousness, the warmth of the dawn's first light on his face and the brightness of Ashunera as he glimpsed her, framed by the red sun. He had not and would never forget that moment.

Perhaps Ashunera had never forgotten that moment, either. It had been his song and the rustle of his black wings that had greeted her first of his entire race, after all. Her countenance had lit up with delight when his young voice attempted his first hesitant melodies, and thenceforth she had been something between an elder sister and a mother to him.

Lehran could never say if it had been the mere fact that he was the eldest of herons that had prompted Ashunera to choose him as her favorite of all creatures, or if it had been for some other reason. Nevertheless, choose him as her favorite Ashunera did, bestowing upon him her blessing. He had not understood the full implications of that blessing at first, and perhaps neither did she. She had never attempted a benediction of such magnitude before, and she never did so again.

After Lehran, other herons evolved from the Zunanma. Most of them had feathers of dark blue or brown, and a very few were glistening black, as he was. One heron had white wings that shimmered like wisps of cloud and floor-length hair of the palest gold. Reyna. Tellius had still been in its springtime when he took Reyna as his wife. He lived with Reyna for centuries, raising their children- Rohren, Leah, Rue, Rachael, Liesel, and Regis.

But it could not last forever. Reyna eventually passed on, leaving him behind.

At first, he had not understood. Comprehension came slowly when his body simply refused to age any more. Ashunera shared his sorrow when he came to her about it, but she would not withdraw her blessing.

It was a great grief that he would live as long as she did, and have to witness his children die and then their children die and then their children's children die, but it would not be helped. He was the Voice of the Goddess, her Apostle, speaking in her name to the races of beorc and laguz that were beginning to populate Tellius. Work yet remained for him there, and he must hold to it.

Sephiran learned to live with his grief as he saw his beloved Reyna live on in their descendants. No matter how many of his children passed on, leaving him behind, a new generation was born- not to take their place, for each heron's place in his heart could not be filled by another- but to remind him that he had a place with them. His father's heart found every day a reason to remain among them in the bright green eyes of the children. Grief passed into wisdom, and he did not grudge his duty.

Though in time the herons chose a king from among the direct descendants of Rohren, Lehran was ever held in an exalted place in their hearts. To them, no kingly title was fit for him. They called him their Great Father. He could have asked for no better designation than that.

Slowly, through the decades, the lands around them began to change. Strife arose between the different races and peoples of Tellius. The Zunanma had been creatures of balance, neither cursed with the unfeeling rationality of a machine nor the ungovernable impulses of a brute animal. However, that balance had been left behind when they developed into the laguz and the beorc.

Sephiran could not guess how or why it had happened – even Ashunera herself had not noticed the change for a long time – but the descendants of the Zunanma grew steadily more chaotic. Perhaps it was an unavoidable side-effect of the necessary mutations they underwent in the evolution process. Be that as it may, the chaotic tendencies of their natures soon overwhelmed the calm rationality that had once stabilized their minds, and the beorc and the laguz had become creatures of chaos alone.

No, he was incorrect in that statement. The herons alone, the first group to be differentiated from the Zunanma, retained the light of order in their hearts. Perhaps it had something to do with their gentle, harmless ways and compassionate hearts. Perhaps it had something to do with residual magic of Ashunera's blessing upon Lehran that they inherited.

Be that as it may, the herons alone remained pure creatures of order. The dragons were the second most orderly, but their hardly-maintained balance was glasslike, terrible and fragile. A dragon who gave in to chaotic impulses went madly, blindly raging, unstopping until the provocation was destroyed. From the beginning, all dragons were strongly encouraged to never use their shifted forms for any sort of violence.

The earliest dragons had been able to check themselves fairly well, Sephiran was willing to admit. He could still remember their faces and names as if he had seen them but yesterday – Ezacar with his red eyes and booming laugh, Kuro with his red laguz marking in the center of his forehead and his hair as dark as a raven's wing. It had been Kuro who had first issued the command – it was advice, really, but the dragons regarded advice from Kuro as a command – that the dragons were not to perpetuate violence across Tellius.

For violence did break out across Tellius. The laguz learned to use their shifted forms to rend and tear, not mute prey, beasts of the field with no thoughts of their own, but other laguz and terrified beorc.

In response, the beorc developed terrible weapons of iron and steel. Some beorc even turned to the magic they had learned under the tutelage of the herons, channeling the energies of the spirit world upon their foes in the forms of blinding lightning and blades of wind. The flames of chaos, fanned by the senseless violence, rose ever higher.

Sometimes, it was not solely Tellius's fault. One conflict raged over alien dragons who came from a different world, of a bloodline entirely separate from the Zunanma. The beorc had blamed the laguz when the portal suddenly opened in the southeast corner of Tellius, and the laguz blamed the beorc, since they were the only ones who were careless with magic. The fact that nigh-rampaging dragons of a type no one had seen before stepped through and clearly did not wish to leave did not help the situation.

Kuro, Lehran, and the other herons tried to diffuse the situation. In talking with the foreign dragons, once they finally were calm enough to speak, they learned that the 'invaders' were actually refugees. The alien dragons spoke of a different world, where the magic of the land that had long sustained them had been slowly draining away. Resembling the dragons of Tellius in one point- their seemingly orderly natures that went _massively _awry in the right (or wrong, rather) situations-, they had been unable to cope with the situation.

The foreign dragons had rampaged across their homeland. With no visible god or goddess to turn to, no other laguz to diffuse the situation, the puny beorc of their land had seemed doomed. Then something had occurred, the foreign dragons knew not what, but a small handful of beorc warriors had appeared, wielding divine weapons and cutting down the maddened dragons.

It had then become a matter of survival. Using the last of their sanity, the dragons had opened a portal- where it led, they knew not, save that it could not be much worse than the slaughter that awaited them if they stayed. Mourning for those they left behind, they passed through, and emerged into Tellius.

Having heard their story, the dragons of Tellius did not have the heart to force them to leave, and the herons agreed. They pleaded to Ashunera, and she adopted the foreign dragons as her own, giving them permission to remain in Tellius. The foreigners meekly tried to stay out of Tellius affairs, holing up in the corner of the land where they had arrived and building ice temples to live in.

Although some of the foreign dragons were fire dragons, similar enough to the red dragons of Tellius that the two types merged bloodlines and became indistinct soon enough, some were not. Some were ice dragons, unlike anything Tellius had seen before, with their wingless backs and frosty breath. These had retained their sanity longer, and guarded the temple which enshrined the location of the portal. They had enough sense, most of them, to never desire to return, but they preserved the memory of where they had originated.

One fundamental thing distinguished the foreigners from the dragons of Tellius. While the red, white, and black dragons of Tellius could voluntarily switch from a relatively beorc-like appearance to their full winged forms, the foreigners could not. Perhaps it was a lingering effect of the chaos that had engulfed them in their homeland, or perhaps it was a basic trait of theirs that could not be removed.

Regardless, they had to seal up the majority of their strength in power in special gemstones in order to attain a beorc-like appearance. Some of the foreigners did so without complaint, observing that they would have had to do the same if they had lingered in their homeland, while others preferred to eschew beorc and remain transformed all the time.

Needless to say, that fact quite surprised the Tellius dragons, who could rarely muster the energy to remain transformed for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Even though the foreigners had no ill intentions towards Tellius and its people, their effect upon the land was not entirely benign. With the increasing anarchy of the chaotic peoples of the land, and with all the negative energy their squabblings generated, their chaos only led to more chaos. The rampaging dragons from another land only dropped the scale further on the side of chaos.

Ashunera tried her best. So many, many times did the goddess seek to reason with the peoples of Tellius. She considered them all her children, as Lehran had considered all the herons his children. But they would not listen to her, nor would they listen to her emissary, the Great Father of the herons. The most they would ever do was leave Serenes Forest, the dwelling place of the herons, untouched in its sanctity. And so in Serenes Forest the herons held out, maintaining their neutrality and begging for peace.

But the chaos could not be restrained. The negative energies and hostilities of the warring peoples finally grew so great it affected even the divine equilibrium of the goddess of Tellius. The chaos within her grew too strong for the order in her heart to counter, and the emotions of Ashunera poured forth, her grief and despair manifesting in great swirling surges of water and rain. A great flood scoured the lands and washed away the entirety of one of the beast tribes, the wolf tribe, and sinking all of the other continents, leaving behind only Tellius.

Appalled at the horror her emotions had caused, Ashunera split herself in two, becoming two beings: Ashera, the Goddess of Order, and Yune, the Goddess of Chaos. Ashera was like twilight, with her mature countenance, precise and logical ways and black garments, while Yune was like morning's first light, with her childlike face, innocence, and pale-colored clothes. Ashera spoke calmly and predictably; Yune acted as one of the many children Lehran had seen grow up through the years- precious and adorable, but unpredictable.

Ashunera splitting herself into two beings had never been Lehran's idea. He was horrified when he learned the deed had been done. Though he spoke no word of reproach, his heron nature was repulsed down to its roots by the very unnaturalness of it. That something that had been one should become two… It was not right. He knew immediately, instinctively, with a horrible sense of foreboding, that nothing good could come of this. Chaos alone brought destruction; Order alone brought emptiness. Neither could survive without the other.

So it was. Ashera soon decided that Yune was unnecessary, and decided to eliminate her. Terrified of the prospect, Yune fled and surrounded herself with beorc and laguz. She tried to fight back, fearing annihilation. She even went so far as to bless the armor and weapons of her black-clad troops.

Ashera saw that Yune was prolonging the war, and took steps to end it. So she selected the mightiest warriors she could find out of the races of Tellius. From the dragon laguz, she chose Dheginsea, the peerless black dragon king, descended from Kuro, who stood taller than many of the fortresses the beorc built to shield themselves from him. From the beast tribes, Ashera selected Soan, a gigantic green lion who, upon transformation, stood at least six feet high at the shoulder. And from the beorc, Ashera picked a phenomenal swordswoman named Altina.

Ever the logical one, Dheginsea had pointed out that the bird tribes might feel slighted, and suggested that the goddess should also select a warrior from among them. Soan was all set to go fetch the raven king or the hawk king. Dheginsea, however, also added that they would need a healer on their quest to overthrow Yune's troops. With that in mind, the most logical thing would be to find a heron capable of singing the recovery galdr.

To Ashera the most logical and orderly thing was to choose the one to whom she had already long ago given her blessing- Lehran. And so the Great Father of the heron tribe joined them, the unsung member of the group that would go down in Tellius history as Ashera's Three Heroes.

Blessed by the Goddess of Order, Dheginsea, Soan, and Altina were unstoppable. Dheginsea's breath, especially when coupled with his devastating skill, Ire, blew away platoons of black-clad troops at a time. Soan plowed through their ranks, ripping through flesh and bone as if metal armor were mere tissue paper to his claws. Altina had been an angel of destruction, sometimes standing on Soan's broad back as she wielded her dual swords, Alondite and Ragnell. To Lehran's mind, she had been beautiful beyond the lot of beorc, with her smiling golden eyes and her violet hair, as long as a heron's.

Lehran could not explain it himself. He had been a stranger to that type of warmth in his heart since Reyna had passed on. Yet somewhere, somehow, it returned to him as he watched Altina. The Great Father of the heron tribe fell in love with a beorc woman. It surprised Altina immensely to learn this, but she returned his love. She saw Lehran's gentleness, his kind ways and his infinite patience, and she knew no better or safer man to entrust her heart to.

In the end, Yune's troops were defeated. Seeing Yune's terror at the prospect of being annihilated, and reminded of a child once again, Lehran had pleaded earnestly with Ashera, begging her to spare Yune. Ashera had not been easy to convince. Yune was an imperfection, she stated, and must be eliminated.

Fearful at the prospect that separation from her emotions was already driving Ashera mad, and silently terrified that if Ashera annihilated Yune she would in the process annihilate herself also, Lehran sought for another option. Finally he offered that Yune could be sealed away for a thousand years, with Ashera sleeping through that millennium as well. To complete this, Altina suggested that the laguz and beorc could pledge not to start a continent-wide war during that span of time and also not seek to exterminate each other.

Yune had clung to this hope with pitiable desperation. After an agonizing moment in which no one had been sure what would happen, Ashera finally accepted this compromise. She would sleep in the Tower of Guidance for a thousand years, and Yune would be sealed away. The original idea had been to erect another tower at the opposite end of Tellius and there seal Yune away, but Yune had objected to this idea. She would be lonely there, and, being formed of Ashunera's emotions, she needed others around her to remain intact. Lehran remained her favorite, as he remained Ashera's favorite, and she begged to stay with him.

And so Lehran had taken off the medallion Reyna had given him long ago that he wore around his neck, and offered it to Yune. He promised that he would sing to her, and that she would never be lonely. With that promise Yune had been content. So, upon the top floor of the Tower of Guidance, drawing upon the power of the goddess's blessing that he had been given, Lehran sang the most powerful galdr he had ever given voice to, something beyond the mere galdr of sleep- a galdr strong enough to lull the Goddess of Order and the Goddess of Chaos both to sleep, and to seal away Yune within the medallion.

It had been like a sort of death, when he walked out of the goddess's chamber, leaving the sleeping Ashera behind, and sealed the doors to the chamber with a variation of the same galdr. He felt like he was leaving behind a part of himself. Ashunera had been both like an older sister and a mother to him; Ashera, devoid of emotion as she was, had been more distant, but he still cared for her deeply.

At the very least, Yune remained with him, the steady pulse of her caring heart under his hands as he slipped the cord of the medallion over his head again. He fully intended to keep his promise to her. He would keep the medallion with him always. Nor would he only murmur the galdr of sleep to her periodically to ensure she stayed quiet; his songs would remind her that he, Lehran, still cared for her and hoped that she would be reunited with her other half at the end of a thousand years.

Soan, Dheginsea, and Altina carried the news of their pledge home to their peoples. The races of Tellius had been sworn not to attempt to exterminate each other or ignite a continent-wide war. With the slumber of the goddesses, peace slowly descended across Tellius. The destruction wreaked by the Great Flood was slowly mended: homes were rebuilt, crops replanted, and communities reestablished.

In time, the great country of Begnion slowly formed, and Altina was chosen as its first Queen. Her friends from the war against Yune remained her advisors, although Dheginsea was, even in those early days, reluctant to move from his mountainous refuge of Goldoa. Soan had been less hesitant. The green lion was a prominent sight in early Begnion, enforcing Queen Altina's rule and serving the cause of justice.

Nevertheless, the one in whom Altina always placed the most trust remained Lehran. She accepted the fact that she would have to pass on into the next life and leave him behind, as perpetually young and changeless as she had first met him.

For his part, Lehran found his love for Altina was all the more precious in a sense _because_ they would have so little time together. She would not live much longer than four score years, and he would suffer the same grief that had stricken him when he lost Reyna. Yet he accepted that fact, too. And so they were married.

The reactions of those around them varied. Soan had been delighted. Dheginsea had given Lehran an incredulous look when the event was announced to him, but, upon seeing their happiness together, decided to keep his reservations to himself.

For their part, the people of Begnion had rejoiced. In that time, the tensions between laguz and beorc had not yet degenerated into mutual hatred and antipathy. The chaos that led to the Great Flood had not been conflicts between beorc on one side and laguz on the other; beorc had struggled against beorc and laguz against laguz just as often.

So the inhabitants of Begnion did not see anything wrong with Lehran. He was their Queen's husband, and they saw no cause for concern in his black wings. As a matter of fact, since he was the Voice of the Goddess, his being united in marriage to their Queen was a good omen, they thought.

The herons had been more confused than anything else by this. They were too gentle and accepting of what they saw as destiny to protest very much, and it was hard for them to see anything that their Great Father did as being wrong. Most of them could not understand Lehran's choice fully, but they loved him anyway.

When Altina became pregnant, the rejoicing redoubled. No laguz-beorc couples had ever been able to conceive before then. Considering this, even Dheginsea was moved to contemplate that perhaps his reservations had been unfounded.

Then tragedy struck.

Altina bore a daughter, with her mother's silky violet hair and golden eyes, whom they named Sephora. She seemed to be a beorc like her mother and fated to prove just as short-lived. Everyone would have accepted her as a beorc, no matter how gifted her father, and Lehran would have lived with seeing his child grow old and pass before him as he had lived with the deaths of his heron family- content with seeing them live through future generations.

However, shortly after her birth, as Lehran held Sephora in his arms, something strange came over him. It felt as if his power flowed out of him and into his tiny daughter, a crippling sensation of weakness and desolation. He felt fragile, as he had not felt since Ashunera bestowed her blessing upon him.

Disoriented, he handed Sephora to Altina and laid his hand on Yune's medallion nervously. Yune was quiet. Whatever had happened, it was not due to her. If Yune was quiet, Ashera certainly was. What had just occurred?

It was not long before the results unfolded. He had lost the ability to transform, and with it the ability to sing galdrar. He could still feel the seid magic deep within him, sealed there by the blessing of Ashunera, but it no longer responded when he sang. The words were still etched upon his mind and heart, and he could still hear the elemental spirits loud and clear, but he had lost his power. Something fundamental to his heron nature had been abruptly taken away. His world had been knocked askew, and could not be righted.

To complete the picture, a strange mark appeared on the back of Sephora's right hand, a flowing image with curving lines as if in representation of bird wings.

Perplexed, Soan had been unable to offer an answer. Hastening from Goldoa with remarkable speed for once, Dheginsea had been gravely concerned. His opinion, delivered in his deep, rumbling voice, was that Lehran's power had left him and entered into his child.

Lehran would not have minded that so much, had he been in his usual state. However, losing so fundamental a part of his heron nature had upset the delicate order within him. In later decades, he could barely remember that terrible time. Dheginsea later informed him that he had gone mad and tried killing himself many times.

While Soan was occupied with running Begnion for the distraught Altina, Dheginsea tried to handle the heron dispossessed of his power. It was not easy. The only thing that saved Lehran from death was that, due to Ashunera's blessing, nothing seemed to really harm him.

Lehran finally realized that only something or someone blessed by the goddess could kill him, and he begged Soan and Dheginsea alternately to put him out of his misery. Tears dripping down his bearded cheeks, Soan refused. Dheginsea declined as well, shaking his balding head ponderously.

"I cannot kill you, Lehran," he said. "I… I have not the heart. Moreover, you remain the goddess's favorite. I cannot risk killing you. I wonder if I even could. No, I cannot inflict such pain upon you."

The herons were horrified by the fate that had befallen their Great Father. They tried desperately to help, but nothing they could do, not even the potent galdr of rebirth, could restore Lehran to his original state. His seid magic remained locked away, and the rest of his power lay in Sephora.

Dheginsea noted that, even in the depths of his madness and despair, Lehran never begged Altina to kill him with her blessed swords, Ragnell and Alondite. He never blamed her or Sephora in the slightest. Instead, he loved them all the more, but he feared that Sephora, in sharing in his power, would share also in his destiny, and he had dark forebodings of what the days ahead would bring for her. She was his child, and he loved her dearly. He would never be able to bring himself to harm her.

Even so, Lehran could not be left in Begnion anymore. If news of his plight spread among the common people, Dheginsea feared they would turn against the laguz-beorc union of their Queen and her husband. Strife between beorc and laguz might be ignited. The flames of chaos would be fanned, and the seal on Lehran's medallion would break, releasing Yune prematurely into the world.

And so, with the heaviest of hearts, Dheginsea did what he thought best. Leaving Soan behind to look after Begnion and its Queen, Dheginsea took Lehran back to Goldoa with him. Before he left, the news was spread instead that Lehran had died in an accident, no details of which were given, and that Sephora was not actually his child at all. Instead, she was said to be the child of a Begnion nobleman, Rufus, whom a heartbroken Altina quickly wedded in order to further the scheme.

The Begnion people were confused and a bit disgruntled by the sudden disappearance of Lehran, but they accepted the word of the Black Dragon King. In time, they grew used to no longer seeing Lehran with his long black hair and glistening black wings standing on the balcony next to Altina. Instead, they looked up to see thickset Rufus, with his wavy red hair and thick beard, official armor and robes glinting in the sun. Rufus had loved Altina for many years, and so his sudden ascension to the position of her husband made some sort of sense.

But it did not take a detective to notice that Altina never recovered from the loss of Lehran. Her golden eyes no longer smiled, and she clung tightly to her tiny daughter, the only thing she had left of her true husband. Sephora's mark on the back of her hand was kept covered, and no one outside of Soan and Dheginsea was told that the little princess could sing galdrar, her voice rising as high and pure as that of a white-winged heron princess.

Meanwhile, locked away in Goldoa, Lehran slowly recovered his mind, but his heart remained dull and aching with pain. He was forced to remain out of sight of even most of the dragons, though he was never kept away from the sky and sunlight for too long. His wings were much weaker than they once had been, and he rarely dared to fly after then. He could not be sure that they would carry his weight, little though it was.

He did not even have the constant presence of his children's children around him to remind him of his reason for existing, as he had had in Serenes Forest after the death of Reyna. Instead, he was alone in a mountainous land populated only by dragons. He never lost his basic gentleness and kindness, but he became withdrawn. He was isolated, and tired, so very tired in a land of rock and stone.

There never had been many dragon children, and as the decades passed the birthrate dropped to almost zero. The only dragon children Lehran was familiar with were those of Dheginsea and his queen, Cantara- Rajaion, Almedha, and tiny Kurthnaga. All three were black dragons, taking after their father, with their-blood red eyes and reddish skin.

Rajaion, as the eldest of the children and Dheginsea's heir, was considered responsible enough to know of Lehran's presence in Goldoa, so Lehran did not have to conceal himself from him. Rajaion piqued Lehran's curiosity, for he reminded the dispossessed heron of the black dragons he had known in his youth, when the last remnants of the Zunanma were separating into the forefathers of the laguz and of the beorc. Unlike Dheginsea, Almedha, and Kurthnaga, whose hair bore a greenish tint, Rajaion actually had black hair. His soul, too, was more orderly than most dragons- in fact, chaos and order within him almost came to a balance, very strongly reminiscent of the Zunanma.

If Rajaion was a throwback to the beings of a former era… if he were a throwback to Kuro, his forefather…

Lehran had idly wondered a time or two if, Ashera's blessing aside, Rajaion had the potential to become one day even stronger than his father. However, Lehran had never mentioned this to the Dragon King or his son. Dheginsea, undoubtedly, would not approve.

In contrast to Rajaion, Almedha was old enough to figure out who Lehran was but not old enough to have a sense of tact in not blabbing about his presence. Therefore, Lehran found it regrettably necessary to keep out of her sight, per Dheginsea's orders. From what Lehran observed of her, however, she seemed a bright, headstrong girl, with the fiery temper of her mother, a red dragon.

When Lehran came to Goldoa, Kurthnaga was still an infant, too young to grasp the fact that Lehran was not of the same species as the other adults. In Kurthnaga Lehran had found some solace for the loss of Sephora, at least for a few years. Unable to deny the soft spot in his heart for any child, Lehran had sung over Kurthnaga's cradle, wishing a long life of peace and order for the child. As the years passed and Kurthnaga grew, however, Lehran had to be hidden from him, too.

And then Lehran had only Yune, silent in her medallion but for the steady pulse of her divine heart. How many hours had he spent, locked in an echoing library, standing at a window and looking out at the sky he could no longer reach, his fingers tracing the patterns of his medallion in an attempt to remind himself that he still had _someone_ worth living for?

He could not say.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, one of my headcanons is that the dragons of Elibe opened a portal to Tellius when they were trying to escape, and that it was to Tellius Nils returned after the events of _Blazing Sword_. (Yes, I ship EliwoodxNinian. You cannot convince me otherwise.)

This may or may not become plot-relevant later on in the story.

Also, this would be a good time to point out that in the official timeline of Tellius, Serenes Forest was only recognized as a separate political entity in 478, with the Treaty of Sarasa (which also established the kingdoms of Daein and Kilvas). Bear in mind that that is 478 years after the formation of the Begnion Empire; Altina became the first Queen of Begnion 131 years before that.

With no available date for it, I have made the executive decision for _Dawn of Balance_ that the War of the Goddesses (as I call it) took place in -136, or 136 years before the formation of the Begnion Empire.

I have also made the executive decision that Serenes Forest, as the abode of the herons, Ashunera's favorite people, was always seen as an independent, neutral political entity, and that its sanctity was respected by everyone. It just makes no sense otherwise.

I would like to tell anyone who thinks Lehran was the useless fourth member of the Three Heroes that the recovery galdr is awesome and incredibly useful. (I could also start a firefight in the reviews by saying that I think Reyson is the most useful heron, but I must also admit to troll tendencies on my part…)

Yes, I have invented the whole part about Rajaion being a throwback to his more orderly forefathers. However, I think it makes sense, and it explains why he has black hair when the rest of the black dragons have green hair. (At least, we presume Dheginsea had green hair. He has a green moustache…)

What can I say? I think Rajaion is awesome. His death is one of the saddest moments in FE. I think he would have been a great unit, too. Sorry, Kurthnaga, you were awesome when I leveled you up, but your big brother would have been even more awesome.

Not to mention the whole story with Ena and then his role in trying to save his nephew and I am officially crying again… *sniff*

I suppose I should have said spoiler alert. I also suppose it is too late now.

Spinner here, signing out.


	3. Hiding No Longer

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

- Some of the dialogue in this chapter is adapted from the game script. I obviously do not own the game script.

* * *

Hiding No Longer

While Lehran had existed- he would not say _lived_, for it was not a life for him, away from Serenes Forest and his families- in Goldoa, tensions between beorc and laguz had mounted in the outside world. Dissension had arisen in Begnion. The days when a beorc queen could rule the land with a green lion as her trusted right hand and eventual successor were no more. The beorc and laguz had begun to distrust each other, each seeing the other as inferior.

Beast laguz had escaped to the forests of the west and established Gallia, and birds had flown out of bondage to the isles of the southern seas, establishing Phoenicis for the hawks and Kilvas for the ravens. Begnion's attempts to reclaim its subjects and its territories were ultimately unsuccessful.

Not only laguz fled Begnion, but beorc as well. Beorc within Begnion who were more kindly disposed to the laguz found it necessary to leave their mother country and establish themselves as Crimea, while beorc who loathed the laguz and found Begnion too tolerant of them betook themselves to the rough, untamed highlands in the northeast of Tellius, on the borders of the Desert of Death. There, they founded Daein. Begnion attempted to reclaim those lands for itself, as well, but met with no success.

Through it all, Serenes Forest, left untroubled since the days before the Great Flood, and Goldoa, a silent, disapproving presence on the map of Tellius, remained neutral. Lehran knew it pained Dheginsea, but the Dragon King stood firm.

"If we make the slightest move, if we break our neutrality," Dheginsea had said soberly, "the situation will be seen by other nations as dire. Then they, too, shall act, and chaos shall engulf Tellius. The seal upon the goddesses shall break, and what shall ensue shall put the flood of so many centuries ago to shame. No, Lehran, I can do no more."

At one time, Lehran would have meekly accepted Dheginsea's words and returned to his isolation in the dusty library. However, so many long years of solitude without the constant hope given to him by his heron children and _with_ the constant pain of knowing laguz were being denied their rights as living children of the goddess had altered Lehran. Alone with only a silent medallion for company, he had lost much of his heron nature. He was no longer so forgiving.

"But you could do so much more, even without hostilities, Dheginsea!" he had pleaded.

"I have done much," Dheginsea had said, in his slow, ponderous way. "I have sent messengers and envoys, diplomats and guards. I have hosted peace talks and treaty negotiations. We have seen some progress. Begnion no longer holds the death grip upon Tellius that it once did. New lands have come into being, where laguz can live their lives away from these wretchedly short-sighted beorc. Is that not a great accomplishment?"

"Yes, it is," said Lehran, "but it is not enough." He reached down and, taking the map they had been surveying from the table, rolled it up, matching the taller Dragon King eye for eye. "The laguz are not always free to leave Begnion. What say you to them?"

"I am doing all that I can, Lehran," Dheginsea had stated, a rumble of frustration infiltrating his tone.

Lehran laid his hands flat on the table. When he spoke, his voice was so low even Dheginsea's laguz hearing strained to pick it up. "Say you do not move, Dheginsea, and the thousand years pass without chaos engulfing Tellius. What then? What do we tell the goddesses, when Yune and Ashera waken and ask us what has befallen their children, the laguz and the beorc, while they slept? Do we tell them that we preserved the peace, but at the cost of so many lives of laguz innocents? Do we, Dheginsea? Can you tell me that you can look little Yune in the eye and tell her that the beast and bird tribes she loved so much have suffered so while she slept?"

Dheginsea turned away. "You are a gentle soul, Lehran, the gentlest person I have ever known," he said, "but there are times when gentleness does not serve. It takes a Dragon to keep a clear head in these matters. It is better for some to live, than for all to perish in chaos."

"But there will _never_ be a balance at this rate!" Lehran had insisted. "There is too much chaos, too much negativity, too much hatred… It is not stopping, Dheginsea. Something is fueling it, I know not what. What warped the innocent Zunanma into the factious peoples we see now? I do not think it is wholly natural. I want to know _why_, Dheginsea. I still want to save them, save them all, beorc and laguz alike. However, they will perish in their chaos, right now, sooner or later, before the thousand years are up unless we do something!"

"All things require sacrifice, some sacrifices greater and more painful than others." Dheginsea shook his head slowly. "Goldoa will not move," he said simply. "Lehran, it is not that I do not wish to do more. However, if there is even to be a future from which these helpless laguz can benefit, I must not do what you ask of me. Goldoa will not move."

Lehran turned away, silent disgust filling the air behind him.

* * *

When news came shortly thereafter to Goldoa of fresh measures passed by the self-righteous senate in Begnion, who dared to call themselves chosen by the goddess, the events in Dheginsea's castle were not hard to predict.

Lehran privately set his heart on leaving. He had to try and bring about an accord himself, or he would never forgive himself for sitting safe and lonely in Goldoa while laguz suffered. However, he spoke not a word of it to anyone- no one but Rajaion, and only then because the young dragon guessed what Lehran was up to.

Rajaion was maturing into a fine young man, with the same tall, powerful build as his father and the same blood-red eyes. Whereas Dheginsea's presence overawed people, however, Rajaion was dignified without being overbearing. He smiled a lot more, and he laughed, too- a good-natured young man, with none of the fiery temper of his mother's red dragon race or the intractable willfulness of his father. Lehran was reminded more than ever of the earliest black dragons, with their shining, jet-black hair and scales, shaking their wings and taking to the skies to greet the Goddess of Dawn.

"You're leaving, aren't you," said Rajaion, standing in the library and watching as Lehran examined antique beorc magic tomes before selecting a few and placing them in a bookbag.

"I am," said Lehran. He saw no use in denying it to Rajaion. At that moment, Rajaion and Yune were the only people in Goldoa he wanted to talk to and were available. They were also the only people he wanted to listen to, and Yune, due to ancient circumstances, would not answer him verbally any time soon.

"How do you plan to get past father?" asked Rajaion, interestedly.

"He will be slow, very slow to use violence to restrain me," observed Lehran with clinical detachment, running his hand over the jewel-bound cover of a Flux tome. It was a relic of an earlier, other world, brought through the portal in the corner of Goldoa by the ice dragons centuries ago, before the great flood. The ice dragons had almost died out now, only traces of their magic and culture lingering in remote bits of Goldoa.

"Are _you_ contemplating violence?" asked Rajaion, eyebrows raised in apparent alarm.

Lehran gave him an amused glance. That fact alone spoke volumes on how far Lehran had fallen from his former heron nature. "Not seriously," he said, "but I do think it wise to be prepared. See, Rajaion, your father," he paused to flip through the tome, "is accustomed to being obeyed. He has been the Dragon King for centuries upon centuries by now. He was blessed by Ashera. All creatures of Tellius fear him and revere him. His authority and power are unquestioned: no one dares violate the sacred borders of Goldoa. No one questions his orders or dares to disagree with him to his face."

"Oh, we've disagreed before, father and I," Rajaion commented, leaning against a bookshelf and folding his arms. His eyes glittered as his gaze traveled around the room, taking in the high windows, sturdy oaken bookshelves, and leather-bound books.

"And how did it go?" asked Lehran.

"He won, of course," said Rajaion. "He always wins, in the end. If all else fails, he gives an order and that is that. I suppose you are right. In the end, no one is allowed to disagree."

"He has that compelling voice, too," said Lehran. "I think it is a sort of inherent magic of the Dragon King- he gives orders, and lesser dragons obey him." He paused. "I should look into that sometime. It would make for an interesting study."

"He does have that," Rajaion agreed. "I haven't noticed it with the rulers of the birds and beast tribes, whenever a meeting of kings is held here. Perhaps it is something to do with our family. We are the only black dragons left, and our type lives so long special magic has time to accrue within a dynasty."

Lehran nodded his head, placing a falling-apart copy of an old tome back on the shelf. "You may be right there." After a moment, he added, "But the Dragon King voice, for lack of a better term, is not inescapable." He gave Rajaion a look.

Rajaion shifted. "I've noticed."

Lehran busied himself with his bookbag. "I have never mentioned this before, since I knew Dheginsea would disapprove, but I think it bears mentioning now. From the first moment I saw you, Rajaion, you reminded me not of your father, although many say that to please him, but of the first black dragons to distinguish themselves from the Zunanma- of your forefather, Kuro, who welcomed the ice dragons into his borders. Your life force is more structured, more orderly- more like a real balance than is usual for dragons. Your resistance to magic is quite high, too. I've seen your father send you on a disagreeable errand, with that Dragon King voice of his- you hesitate before going. It doesn't work wholly on you."

Rajaion smiled ruefully. "I suppose that simply means I am the most stubborn of the lot."

"No. It does not." Leaving his bookbag alone, Lehran walked over to Rajaion. "You are not stubborn. You are determined, and wise, and you do not believe that you are always right, unlike your father. After I leave, I do not know if and when we will meet again, but I would like for you to remain as you are, right now, Rajaion: acting on what you believe is right, because it is right. A good man."

"I shall certainly try," said Rajaion quietly.

"Promise me?" asked Lehran.

"I promise."

Lehran nodded, and walked back to his bookbag. "You asked how I would escape your father. Well, it ties in to what I said about how he is always obeyed. He knows I disagree with him- I have even argued with him, for Ashera's sake, as no one else would dare to do. But I have always agreed in the end to do what he ordered me, in the past. He brought me here, and here I have remained for centuries. He will never, in his wildest dreams, expect me to act so against my meek heron nature and _leave_."

Lehran offered the young dragon a wry smile. "My guess is that his very shock will prevent him from taking action to stop me."

"Possibly," Rajaion conceded. "But once he recovers himself, he will send a platoon of red dragons after you, to bring you back."

"Hence, these," said Lehran, picking up an old Light tome.

Rajaion raised his eyebrows again. "Do you seriously intend to practice magic like a beorc?"

"They learned the art from the herons," Lehran corrected him. "The herons have merely sworn off channeling spirit magic. And, since technically I am no longer a heron, that rule no longer applies to me. I am willing to bet that any red dragons after me will be so perplexed at the idea of a heron resisting capture with violence they will give up the hunt. Dheginsea does not want to see me injured, after all, and once I am among beorc it will be very hard for him to find me. I have ways and means of concealing my presence."

"The wings are a giveaway," Rajaion reminded him.

"I have found a magical binding to remove them from sight," Lehran assured him. "A bit painful, and extremely tiresome to set up, but ultimately worth it."

Rajaion shook his head. "You have planned this escape for a very long time," he noted.

Lehran nodded, closing his bookbag.

"May the goddesses bless your efforts in Begnion," said Rajaion solemnly. "I can ask no more than that."

Lehran gave him a smile. "And may they watch over you here in Goldoa, as well, Rajaion." He laid a hand on the young dragon's shoulder. "Do not worry over me. Keeping Almedha in line and obeying Dheginsea is enough for anyone to handle."

"I can handle it. It is my charge," said Rajaion steadily.

"And I wish you and Ena all the happiness in the world, when that day comes," Lehran added.

Rajaion blushed a little, though it was hard to tell underneath his darker coloring. "Thank you."

_No, thank _you_, Rajaion_, Lehran thought.

* * *

Lehran would have liked to have been able to say goodbye to those who had been kind to him in his exile in Goldoa. However, they had been few in number to begin with, due to Dheginsea's desire for secrecy, and of them some had passed on, among them Cantara, Dheginsea's queen. Even the old ice dragon had passed on who had been the librarian when Lehran first arrived, a warped heron, his mind still scrambled and his hand clutching desperately at Yune's medallion, her presence the only constant in a world gone mad. It was a pity. Lehran would have liked to speak with her again about the other world in which she had been born.

At the very least, Lehran would have liked to leave the stubborn Dragon King's children with a blessing, even Almedha and Kurthnaga, whom he had never been able to properly meet. However, it was a wish that had to remain unfulfilled.

The good thing about attempting to evade dragons was that they were, on the whole, slow and not very agile, even in their beorc-like forms. The bad thing was that they had very good senses of sight, smell, and hearing, and well as magical perception that enabled them to locate other living creatures.

Lehran had thought of that in advance, however, and had prepared for it by learning to mask his magical strength, dimming his signature until he appeared no brighter in the spirit world than an average beorc sage. He also finally finished the magical binding upon his wings, removing them from sight.

It had been a wrench, sealing the spell with the last few words; he could not stifle the thought that he was removing the last trace of his former heron nature. He checked himself, however. He still had his long hair, and he could still hold Yune's medallion without completely losing his mind… On second thoughts, Ashunera's blessing was a more likely explanation for the latter fact than any remnants of his heron orderliness.

A more practical aspect of his decision to remove his wings from sight was that they were no longer physically there. At all. This had utterly wrecked his balance at first, and he spent a few days re-learning to walk, sit, stand up, and generally move around without toppling over.

He had also had to procure clothing without the necessary slits in the back on the sly, or mend his own with his meticulously tiny stitches. Fortunately, he had a few days of being left alone in which to do all this. The few servants in the castle to whom Dheginsea had entrusted Lehran were very much accustomed by now to the ex-heron's fits of moping and locking himself up in his chambers or the library for up to an entire week, and thought nothing of it. They had also learned that he could go without food for very long intervals of time, even longer than dragons. They all assumed this had to be yet another side-effect of Ashunera's blessing.

Sometimes Lehran really had to wonder if Ashunera had had any idea of what she had been doing when she made him the Voice of the Goddess.

His preparations complete, Lehran had crept out of the castle.

He made it as far as the courtyard before someone actually took a second look at him and realized he was not a dragon. Most of the onlookers were not sure exactly _what_ he was: he no longer had the scent of a laguz or a beorc, and without his wings and with no visible laguz markings, they might have taken him for a spirit embodied, sent by the gods with a message to the puny mortals. They gaped, and one of the brighter ones scurried off to fetch Dheginsea.

Dheginsea seemed to appear almost instantaneously, catching Lehran at the gate. It was not locked or heavily guarded, since Goldoa was not at war with another land, and anyone foolish enough to walk up to a castle filled with dragons deserved his fate. As two big red dragons moved into the entryway, arms folded, Lehran sighed and turned to face Dheginsea, affecting an air of perfect calm.

Lehran had often wondered how, for a being as large and seemingly slow as Dheginsea- he had honestly never seen the man run-, the Dragon King managed to move himself with such speed when out of sight. Perhaps he had mastered teleportation. Or maybe he had installed secret tunnels in his castle- Lehran would not put it past him.

"Where are you going?" Dheginsea asked sternly. He had put on his best father-reprimanding-naughty-children face, and since he had three children of his own, it was a very good example of such a face.

It had no effect whatsoever upon a being several millennia older than Dheginsea who had raised or help raise more children than Dheginsea had likely ever come into contact with.

"To Begnion," replied Lehran simply. "I will find a solution without you."

"You?" Dheginsea almost snorted. "Lehran, I understand your feelings, but your errand is vain. Your place is no longer in the wide worlds of Tellius. You must remain here, where you are safe. You have lost your birthright. All you will accomplish is your own destruction."

Lehran arched his eyebrows at Dheginsea, and spun on his heel back to the two red dragon guards. They frowned down at him, solid pillars of red-hued flesh and bone, as seemingly immovable as the foundations of the earth.

"Children," said Lehran quietly, "just don't."

The two red dragon guards glanced between this strange man they had never seen before and their angry, worried king, and found themselves stepping aside.

Lehran nodded as if he had expected no other outcome than this, and murmured a serene, "Ashera bless you," as he walked under the archway.

As Lehran had predicted, Dheginsea was utterly flabbergasted- whether it was the fact that Lehran was ignoring him, the fact that his own guards obeyed Lehran over him in his presence, or the fact that Lehran was going to get himself killed, it made no difference. He had been disobeyed. It was so surprising the black dragon himself was rooted to the earth, almost gaping, if his dignity had been capable of crumbling enough to let him gape.

Lehran had progressed twenty feet down the path when Dheginsea finally bestirred himself. He strode forward, almost shoving aside the two guards- who were themselves panicking as they realized what they had done.

"Hold! Hold, I say!" Dheginsea called after the ex-heron.

Lehran raised his hand in an ironical gesture of farewell, but did not reply.

"You cannot leave!" bellowed Dheginsea, his tone deepening into the commanding ring of his Dragon King voice. "I forbid you, Lehran! I forbid you to leave! HOLD!"

Lehran kept on walking.

Dheginsea glanced irately at the two red dragon guards and nodded. Determined not to fail their king this time, they shot after the casually fleeing Lehran, their heavy footsteps pounding over the hardened earth. Lehran paused, listening and waiting. At the last moment, as they sprang to catch him, he took a step forward. They crashed into each other.

With a quiet sigh, Lehran turned to face them, pulling a Light tome out of the bookbag slung over his shoulder. "Boys, I really do not wish to harm you," he said apologetically. "However, I concede that Dheginsea is commanding you in that voice of his, and so you are finding it hard to do the sensible thing. Therefore, I shall have to provide an excuse for you. I am very sorry. I truly am."

The red dragons had scarcely arisen from their tangled heap on the earth when Lehran activated the Light tome. Arcs of yellowish-white light appeared in the sky and curved down, blinding the two. They recoiled with cries of anguish, covering their faces with their hands.

Lehran looked at them kindly. "I truly am sorry," he repeated. Glancing back up at the entrance of the castle, he noticed Dheginsea striding forward, a few more guards in his wake.

"Hmm, time to go," he observed to no one in particular.

* * *

Dheginsea made a most manful effort to recapture Lehran. He really did.

Urged onward by the Dragon King's commands, red dragons and a few white dragons scattered across the plains of Goldoa, hunting down a missing heron. Lehran managed to stay a step ahead, somehow, covering his traces with magic and, when he absolutely had to, forging a temporary contract with a wind spirit to bear him out of danger. The effort drained him, so he only resorted to it when he could actually see red figures running towards him.

_Warp magic would be very useful right about now_, he noted distractedly, as he found a bit of cover in a small thicket and rested after another such incident. _Maybe I should look into that sometime_.

The advantage of being pursued by dragons was the fact that they were so abominably _slow_. Despite his age, Lehran remained as fast and nimble as a raven.

If only his wings had still been able to bear his weight…

Although Dheginsea himself soon gave up following Lehran himself and delegated the task to his red-shirted underlings, Lehran could not help but note that not as many of them were on his trail as he might have expected. He wondered briefly if Rajaion had had anything to do with that. He had not seen the Goldoan heir since their conversation in the library; possibly Rajaion had wanted to be able to deny knowledge of Lehran's escape plans. However, he seemed the type to abet such an endeavor in his own small ways.

Perhaps reluctant to let the entire population of Goldoa- which, admittedly, was not all that large to begin with, especially considering the amount of territory that kingdom claimed- into the secret of Lehran's continued existence, Dheginsea did not order a general manhunt. If he had, sooner or later _someone_ would have chanced upon Lehran.

Lehran did not know himself what would have happened if he had found himself well and truly cornered. He had only stricken the two red dragons with temporary blindness, and that had made him feel sick to his stomach and uneasy at heart- an unease that ran around in circles in his mind, preventing rest from coming. He would have definitely hesitated to do further damage, and Dheginsea would have used that hesitation to have his soldiers dogpile the ex-heron and drag him back to the castle against his protests.

No, he would never have been able to fight back- not then. He had been calling Dheginsea's bluff.

The pursuit had apparently expected Lehran to make for Serenes Forest, at least at first, and Lehran longed with all his heart for the ability to return there and live out his days in peace, surrounded by the children of his children's children. However, the herons now believed that he was dead, courtesy of Dheginsea's excuses for him after he removed him from Begnion, and he would find himself saddled with a lot of awkward explaining to do if he returned now. Only the spirits knew what the herons would think of the Empresses of Begnion after _that_ revelation.

Not to mention, Lehran was no longer truly a heron, and he would never again belong among his own kind as he once had.

As well the pressures of what had happened to his birthright, the plight of the laguz slaves in Begnion constantly worried at Lehran. He would never have been able to linger in Serenes Forest, knowing that he was not exerting his all on their behalf.

So he plotted his course for Begnion instead, and the dragon pursuit behind him, never able to keep him in sight and entirely mistaken about his destination, finally lost him entirely.

There were guards on the border of Goldoa, of course. Lehran spent a cautious day edging around them, trying not to alert their dragonic magical senses to his presence. A couple of times he had narrow escapes, where one of them, sniffing the air, determined that something was amiss and went to investigate. Fortunately, they were more concerned with idiot beorc or terrorized laguz attempting to _enter_ Goldoa than they were on the lookout for ex-herons leaving the kingdom. Even if they had received intelligence from Dheginsea regarding Lehran, they never did find him.

"Well, Yune," he said, more to himself than to the medallion his hand absent-mindedly flew to, "I have proved that one can simply walk out of Goldoa."

Yune, of course, made no reply and slept on.

* * *

A day's traveling brought Lehran to a small beorc farming village. His arrival caused quite a stir, since the inhabitants assumed he was a wandering beorc sage and had no idea what could have brought them to their tiny hamlet. They were hospitable and friendly enough, however- too friendly, perhaps, since they inquired good-naturedly about his past travels and ultimate destination.

Lehran had to spin a backstory for himself on the spot. He claimed he came from an isolated town in a remote corner of Begnion in order to explain his lack of knowledge about various matters. This explanation worked reasonably well, aided, no doubt, by the fact that Goldoa's diplomatic affairs with other countries ensured that Lehran knew the names of the current rulers of all the other lands in Tellius, and also the basic governing system of Begnion itself.

Still, it had been… what… how many generations since he had been dragged off to Goldoa and locked away from the outside world? Begnion was currently ruled by its 36th Empress, Misaha, Even if Sephora's daughter, Yoram, was the first to be hailed by the people of Begnion as the Apostle and the Voice of the Goddess (rather to the distress of the herons, who were still loyal to their Great Father), it had taken a few more generations for the Apostle to become, not merely the Queen, but also the Empress.

An unimaginable length of time…

It was almost like learning to live again. Lehran noted carefully how the people of the towns and cities he passed through spoke, learning to adopt their idioms and pronunciations, picking up on their habits and customs until he could flawlessly pass himself off as one of them and need no longer plead the 'isolated hometown' excuse. He made notes of people who might be of assistance in his goal to free the slaves; he visited monasteries and schools of magic in search of old tomes to copy and new techniques to learn. Whenever beorc expressed bigoted notions about laguz, he quietly tried to dissuade them of such ideas- usually with little success.

The more and more he learned, the more and more complete his disguise became, the more and more he lost of himself- of Lehran, of the eldest heron who had sang for joy when Ashunera stepped out of the dawn and smiled at him. He was neither beorc nor laguz; he was no longer sure what he was, but he was no longer Lehran.

That had been painfully apparent to him on his first day among the beorc, when he stopped at that tiny village and had to start giving excuses. The village headman had asked for his name.

His name? Lehran had barely given that a thought. He supposed, of course, that he could give his own name and the beorc with their short memories would be none the wiser. However, word might eventually reach back to Dheginsea, where he sat in Goldoa and did not move, and Lehran could not risk it. He scrambled for something to tell the gray-bearded headman, and he remembered the last time he had bestowed a name upon someone.

…_Mother and daughter, same fine purple hair, same gold eyes smiling at him…_

Altina had said he should name their daughter. "Give her a beautiful name, Lehran," she urged, "a name such as you would address one of the spirits you speak to so much. Just do not make it so long that we shall have to cut it short into a nickname before we can use it!"

And somehow he had come out with Sephora.

Altina had agreed it was a beautiful name. Sephora their daughter was named, and Sephora she had remained, even after Rufus had stepped in to fill the breach as her putative father and consort of the Queen.

Now, Lehran took his daughter's name and mixed it up, adding a more masculine ending.

"Sephiran," he told the village headman. "My name is Sephiran."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, this is my rendition of the infamous, "GOLDOA WILL NOT MOVE," conversation. I'd like to take a moment to say that none of the conversations in Lehran's memories in the Tower of Guidance work very well as actual conversations. (The fact that his voice actor sounded terrible doesn't help, but that's another matter.) Trying to imagine a scenario which would lead up to any of them just gave me a headache, so I have changed the circumstances a bit.

So in this case Lehran and Dheginsea have their disagreement earlier, and then Lehran makes his plans to escape. (Really, how could he just walk out of Goldoa Keep with no prior planning?)

I came up with my own theory for the magical binding of his wings. I mean, really. Kurthnaga remembers him having wings, and the Begnion villagers saw him with wings at the Serenes Massacre, so obviously he didn't lose them when he lost his powers after the birth of his daughter. (I made up the name _Sephora_ by the way, and his rationale behind taking the name _Sephiran_. I also made up the name for Dheginsea's wife.) And if you recruit Lehran, he appears in the ending, 1500 years later, greeting the restored Ashunera. His wings are visible again.

Where did they go while he was Sephiran?

A magical binding is my only answer. How it would work, I am not sure. My theory is that the wings are somehow encased in another dimension. Blaming things on another dimension seems to work for science fiction and comic book writers, so I'll do the same. Just go with the flow, my lovelies.

We also hit another FE inconsistency about Sephiran's departure from Goldoa. From his conversation with Misaha, you'd think that Sephiran has only recently left Goldoa. In fact, he says himself to Kurthnaga in their battle convo that he resided in Goldoa for over 700 years. Now, unless the transcription I read of the game script had a typo, during the infamous, "GOLDOA WILL NOT MOVE," conversation (and you can bet I'll be mocking the stew out of that line, because I'm sure it rankled with Sephiran) Dheginsea states that the goddesses have been asleep only 150 years.

I've decided to go with the more reasonable figure. I have Lehran leaving Goldoa in 603, or twenty-two years before the Serenes Massacre. I think that if he had left centuries earlier he would have gone nuts much sooner and tried to destroy Tellius much earlier.

I would also like to mention the fact that the herons disliked the Begnion Empress's claim to the title of Apostle. This is canon; it is mentioned in the game's timeline. Now, if Dheginsea had told everyone he died, why would they think that? Even if they had not known the Empresses were descended from Lehran, surely the fact that they could predict the future and things like that would qualify them for the office of Apostle. And it's rather un-heron-like for them to be so insistent upon an issue like that.

So I have theorized that the herons were deeply fond of their Great Father (a title I invented for him, by the way). Dheginsea told them he died, but they did not feel his passing in their heart. So, while they _intellectually_ believe he is dead, they subconsciously believe he is still alive. Thus, they dispute the Apostle's claim to legitimacy, since they think no one else can be the Apostle as long as Lehran is still alive.

They would also wonder how he could have died, since he had Ashunera's blessing. (I have theorized that Ashunera's blessing would have been capable of extraordinary things. Face it, we've seen what the blessing of either Ashera or Yune alone could do. So if you take All Your Powers Combined and do it…)

In this fic, the herons were called upon to try to 'fix' Lehran when he lost his powers. I would imagine they tried the galdr of rebirth, of recovery, all that. Nothing worked. Then they were told he died. I think the herons would have liked to remember Lehran as the Apostle, without mentioning that he lost his powers and went all chaotic there towards the end, so I would not find it hard to believe that the herons have forgotten that he married Altina and had a daughter. Neither Reyson nor Rafiel seem to be privileged with this information (and Rafiel was the oldest son, so you think that if _anyone_ knew, he would), and they do not appear to recognize anything of the sort about Micaiah. So I think the herons have forgotten (perhaps almost deliberately) about it. Only Dheginsea and a few of his most trusted dragons, probably those that were alive and close to the Three Heroes during the War of the Goddesses, still remember.

But this is all YMMV may vary, and you are free to disagree with me!

If you have read through all these notes, you deserve a virtual cookie! Yay! This chapter was better than the previous one, I admit, since there was dialogue. I had had a lot of Tellius's history to explain.

There will be more dialogue in the next few chapters, and I can safely promise that some more canon characters will appear. One you will probably like, and the rest you will likely hate. I will say no more than that…

Spinner here, signing out.


	4. Chance Meetings

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

* * *

Chance Meetings

Feeling with his new name he had truly left his old life as a heron behind, and no longer sure what exactly he still was, Sephiran continued to travel through Begnion. His command of the style of magic practiced by the beorc continued to improve, aided by the fact that he spoke the ancient language with as much facility as the spirits themselves.

To fund his journeys he took to tomebinding. At first, he bought blank books, covering their empty pages with his neat, precise script and finding himself incapable of suppressing the urge to add tiny, jewel-like illustrations in the margins. As he practiced and his skill increased, he progressed to painting the covers in appropriate and brightly-colored designs, illuminating the edges of the spells with pictures of various spirits invoked therein.

Most customers merely exclaimed, "How pretty!" and thought no more of it, but one or two bishops to whom he had sold his light tomes had tapped the pictures with a finger and confidently identified the spirit represented, saying, "Camiah," or, "Helios." No doubt they were helped by the fact that many monasteries had at least one mural or mosaic of a seraph spirit- a very powerful, orderly light/fire spirit- on their walls somewhere, usually Camiah or Mikhaiel. Still, the fact that _some_ beorc were evidently doing it right enough to have experience with a seraph spirit's magic gave Sephiran hope that the cause of Tellius was not wholly lost.

Not all light-magic users he encountered were a delight to meet, of course. Sephiran ran into his fair share of corrupt bishops who charged the poor exorbitantly when they came to the monastery doors, begging a use of a Heal staff for their child's broken leg or for the finger the father nearly lost in a farming accident. Sephiran had met priests and clerics who flagrantly were _not_ living by their vows.

It only became worse as time passed, too. Having lived for so long in a timeless land like Goldoa, whose people aged almost imperceptibly, and having existed for so long himself, Sephiran found himself perpetually surprised by how _quickly_ time flew by among the beorc. Sunrise, sunset- he had seen so many of them they had become mere ripples in the long, long stream of his experience. Seasons came and went, and he found himself astonished at the years. Children he had known had become parents or even grandparents when he returned to a town again, and he had to hope no one recognized him.

With each passing generation, however, the parents passed on their disordered thoughts to their children, who soaked it up. Begnion parents who hated laguz nurtured that sentiment in their own offspring, and laguz who had once been enslaved by beorc and managed to escape the country instilled in their own young a healthy distrust of the featherless, furless children of iron and stone. One man alone could not reverse the tide, and Sephiran found himself weeping at times, struggling to hold on to the hope that had led him out of Goldoa.

Idly, he considered working towards political power in Goldoa, perhaps even working his way up towards the position of a senator. The Begnion aristocracy was largely inherited and titled, but nothing in Begnion could not ultimately be bought, won, or traded, for, he had learned. It was doable. Was it worth it?

_Any sacrifice is worth it, if it frees Ashunera's laguz children_, Sephiran told himself.

So he looked into the matter.

His resolve crumbled after he actually encountered senators. The first meeting was in a monastery library in Sienne. Lehran had heard that that particular monastery, Vitus Cathedral, had a selection of rare ancient texts that he wished to examine. What he learned later was that most of the aristocracy of Begnion sent their boys there to be educated.

This education did not merely pertain to the usual subjects taught at the various institutions of higher learning found in all of Begnion's largest cities, but also included instruction in light-magic. By the time they had graduated, the sons of Begnion's nobility would walk out as bishops, high-level light magic tomes clutched firmly under their arms. Most, indeed, would continue to practice light magic alongside their political careers. Apparently, they liked the option of being able to blast political opponents with the righteous wrath of the gods if their own bill was defeated in the senate.

At any rate, Vitus Cathedral was hosting that day a reunion of sorts for the members of a class that had graduated ten years ago. The first Sephiran learned of it was when the bored-looked librarian told him, gesturing with a thumb towards the door to the corridor leading to the main hall. A distant rumble of many voices emanated from that direction.

"You need not worry, my lord," he said. "They'll be there quite some time. A most excellent feast has been prepared- pheasant, turkey, pork, with the finest of cranberry puddings and an enormous cake in the shape of Mainal Cathedral." The librarian had a secret girlfriend in one of the cooks, which explained his knowledge of the feast's entrees. The fact that Sephiran listened politely and seemed completely ignorant about the big to-do encouraged him to talk more.

"The head bishops and saints were most hopeful that they would be able to persuade her holiness, the blessed Empress Misaha, to attend. After all, three of her senators are attending this reunion. Unfortunately, she had pressing matters of state to attend to and most regretfully had to decline her invitation."

Sephiran made an idle comment about the duties of high officials, purely in order to keep the librarian talking. Servants often proved to be invaluable fonts of information. The man, however, needed little encouragement. The higher-ups usually sent their own lackeys to fetch books for them, and said lackeys were rude and authoritarian with him, relying on the status of their masters to protect them. The librarian enjoyed a sense of superiority over this wandering bishop or sage- he wasn't sure which Sephiran was.

"Yes, but the good senators could not miss a reunion at their alma mater. These three all still practice their light magic, too… I hear there's to be a demonstration later, at three o'clock out in the courtyard. His lordship, Duke Oliver of Tanas, has indicated that he has managed to resurrect an old form of light magic capable of healing the wielder. The good bishops and saints are all most eager to see this."

Heal the wielder? Sephiran was intrigued. "You would not happen to know the name of this tome, would you?" he asked.

The librarian smirked. "I may be only a humble librarian, but I _do_ know the contents of my domain. The functional magic texts are not kept in here, of course, but I have access to a great many depleted tomes. In my spare time, I flip through them to try to improve my grasp of the ancient tongue. Old Master Sabend, who restores the crumbling texts, doesn't particularly like it when I go through books he hasn't yet restored, but…" The librarian shrugged. "It's not my fault if he's too slow. And we have some_ old_ tomes, too. Here, let me show you."

Arising from the stool behind his counter, the librarian forged ahead through impressive rows of towering bookshelves, not even glancing at the placards at the ends of the rows to find his way. Curious, Sephiran followed. They arrived at a dim corner of the library, the arched, stained-glass windows above the bookshelves seeming very tiny and high-up. Before them, a cabinet with doors of tinted glass loomed, its handles and hinges written with magic sigils.

"We have to ward it, to protect the scrolls and books inside," the librarian explained, a bit pompously. "I am one of the few to know the secret of unlocking these doors." Reaching forward, he precisely tapped out a sequence on the various sigils, which glowed briefly and faded. The latch clicked free, and the librarian gently swung the glass doors open. Carefully he removed a crumbled book, bound by the tattered remains of red leather, and gingerly flipped to the table of contents.

"See this?" he said. "This was not a typical tome. Instead of containing simply one spell, it is a catalogue of many different light spells. One page is allotted per spell. It starts out with the easiest, and progresses from there. See? The first page is an ordinary Light spell. I find it fascinating that that spell has been around, in its basic form, for centuries now." The librarian slowly turned a few more pages. "And here we have Ellight, and Purge, nothing new. _Here's_ where it becomes interesting." He paused to give Sephiran another significant smirk and turned a few more crinkly, yellowed pages. "See the title? _Nosferatu_. That's not a very nice name, now, is it? It certainly isn't the name of a light magic spell. I was very surprised to find it in here, and so I've studied it for a long time. It is my belief that this was originally a dark spell some daring sage managed to convert into a light format." He shuddered theatrically. "I would never dare use it myself, of course. By the language of the spell, the traces of dark magic within it are still too strong. It's _tainted, _if you catch my drift."

Sephiran nodded. His eyes had flown over the faded text, memorizing the script- he honestly doubted the self-important librarian would let him study it for himself, so he had to be quick. He agreed with his assessment, however. Something seemed _off_ about the spell, and the vocabulary did indeed smack of dark magic.

"Now, what is _really_ interesting is the tiny footnote at the bottom," continued the librarian, pointing to the relevant line. "The author says he plans to revise this spell himself, cleaning it up and making it more orderly and light-magic-friendly, and perhaps call it _Resire_. I applaud his bravery, but since we have never found a later tome written by him I fear he died in the attempt." The librarian sighed dramatically. "Such is the fate of intrepid researchers sometimes. We must sacrifice so much for the sake of knowledge."

Sephiran made sympathetic noises. Pleased, the librarian carefully replaced the book. His fingers ghosted across a nearby scroll, the man still plainly anxious to show off his learning. However, at that moment they heard heavy wooden doors opening, the babble of several male voices, and an impatient tinkling of a small bell.

The librarian hurriedly closed the glass doors of the cabinet and reset the lock, cursing under his breath. "That will be the lord saints and the senators," he whispered. "They must be going on a tour and have decided to drop by the library. They do that occasionally, purely to annoy me, I think. I must hurry back. Come along. Do not say a word of what I have shown you to anyone, _especially_ not his grace, the Duke of Lard- oh, _pardon_ me, the Duke of Tanas."

When they returned to the counter near the library entrance, Sephiran could appreciate the librarian's sarcasm. Six men in official robes stood next to the counter, one of them- probably the head of the monastery, if his elaborately embroidered garments and impressive hat were anything to go by, Sephiran thought- still ringing the little bell that sat upon it. Behind him stood two acolytes in plain, crisp white robes, escorting their lordships through the monastery and carrying various articles for them.

The other three personages were, if possibly, even more richly dressed, their very posture speaking of arrogance and wealth. One was tallish and slim, his longish hair as carefully styled as the coiffure of any high-class woman. He was whispering to one of his compatriots behind his hand as Sephiran and the librarian walked up and let out an annoyingly high-pitched laugh.

The senator he had been speaking to- Sephiran could only assume these three were the alumni senators the librarian had spoken of- was shorter than the other and much rounder; Sephiran momentarily wondered if he ever became stuck in doorways. He was balding, but appeared manically cheerful despite that. Whatever the tall fop had said to him, he plainly also found it amusing, for he chuckled uproariously with an equally annoying, "Oho ho ho ho."

The third senator stood a few feet apart from them, closer to the head of the monastery, as if to distance himself from their impropriety. He was a thickset man with a leonine face, his well-kept yellow hair and beard contributing to the appearance. He was glancing about the library as if comparing it to his memories of the place from ten years ago.

The librarian hurried towards the elderly saint who was his head and bowed nervously. Sephiran lingered to one side, at the end of a row of bookshelves, assessing the situation. He would not have needed to be told that these three senators had continued their magic practice; he could sense strong magic in all of them. He knew the names of the current Begnion senators, and was trying to fit names to the faces before him. Based on the librarian's comments, he could only assume the portly one was Oliver, Duke of Tanas.

The head of the monastery and the librarian had a brief, whispered conversation. Turning to the senators, the elderly saint gestured expansively to the library and started talking about "a most generous grant" and "recent renovations" that had been done to their alma mater in their name. The senators nodded graciously and looked approving. Meanwhile, the librarian had ducked again behind his counter, looking very much inclined to stay there.

The short conversation was long enough for Sephiran to decide that he did not trust any of the three senators. He could not explain it; it was just a feeling that had come to him. Without his heron gift of reading hearts, he could not understand people and their motives as he once had, but he still possessed a sort of intuition about things. At the moment, that intuition did not like the look in these men's eyes at all. He could not define it any better than that, except to say that they seemed cold, cold in a way that light magic should not be.

The elderly saint gestured to his two acolytes, who opened the doors. The little procession was on the verge of leaving the library- the librarian had already let out a tiny sigh of relief- when the portly senator paused, his round face lighting up with astonishing glee. To Sephiran's horror, Oliver waddled straight towards him, hands held out.

"Oh, what a glorious sight is this!" he exclaimed. "Truly, my friends, have you ever seen such beauty as this? This is magic, this is poetry condensed into living flesh. A miracle of the spirits, indeed!"

The leonine-faced senator rolled his eyes, exasperated. The three monks- four monks, if the librarian was included- all seemed a bit troubled, as if they sensed a disaster in the works.

The tall fop of a senator, however, examined his nails. "You said that about the _last_ one, Oliver, dear," he drawled, "and he was frankly ugly…"

"No, no, no!" cried Oliver. He was by now standing far too close to Sephiran for comfort, gazing up at him greedily. Keeping a tight hold on his bookbag, thinking he might need to grab his Ellight at any moment, Sephiran slowly inched back.

"No, you do him an injustice, Valtome!" Oliver continued. "Look at him! Such lovely pale skin, and such long, gorgeous black hair! So sleek and shiny… I can hardly believe he's human. I thought such beauty belonged only to the feathered angels of Serenes, but here stands living proof of my error! Oh, just let me touch him…"

Oliver stretched out greedy hands. Quite alarmed, Sephiran sidestepped him, whipping an Ellight out of his bookbag and holding it, unopened, in front of him. He glanced at the other senators, to see what they thought of this.

The leonine-faced senator seemed bored, if a bit amused, and did not seem as if he would intervene anytime soon. The monastery head and his acolytes had worried expressions, as if they knew and pitied some terrible fate that lay before Sephiran. Valtome had finally glanced up from his immaculate nails, and gazed at the ex-heron, mildly interested.

"Well, he's better than the last one," Valtome admitted.

"Noooo, you mustn't use magic!" cried Oliver, offended. "You mustn't bestir yourself. You're much too pretty to soil your hands with work."

"I… I beg your pardon?" stammered Sephiran, utterly bewildered. His fingers inched across the cover of his Ellight tome, ready to flip it open and start casting at a second's notice.

"Even his voice is gorgeous!" Oliver was nearly drooling. "I must confess, I am quite overcome. I must not let such beauty as this go to waste, obscured among the squalor of the public world. I must keep it and guard it most carefully, as it deserves… Come to papa. You will never want for another thing again, I promise. I will take the greatest care of you, in return for… special favors… Come to me!"

Oliver lunged. His meaty hands closed on Sephiran's right arm with a vise-like grip. Panicked, Sephiran did the first thing that came to mind, whirling on his heel and smacking Oliver on the temple with his hardbound copy of Ellight.

_Crack!_

Valtome cringed. Even the leonine-faced senator winced. Oliver let out a dazed croak and slumped to the floor.

Backing up, still clutching his Ellight, Sephiran surveyed the results of his deed. He was vaguely surprised he hadn't broken all the bones in the back of his left hand, and surmised that Ashunera's Blessing had, once again, come through. For once, he had absolutely no regrets about performing an act of violence.

"Oh, _bravo_. No one has rejected Oliver like that in a long time," said the leonine-faced senator, slow-clapping ironically. "You must be either very brave or very foolish, master sage. You _are_ aware you just decked a holy senator of Begnion?"

Sephiran _was_ aware, but the ex-heron who had defied Dheginsea to his face was not very bothered by the fact. "_What_ was he doing?" he asked,

Valtome merely gave his high-pitched laugh again, while the leonine-faced senator smiled in a humorless way. "…Recruiting for his personal art collection," he said at length.

Oliver stirred. Slowly heaving his bulk into a sitting position, he glared blearily at his two compatriots. "What are you just standing there for? You let him do that, Lekain! He may injure himself or mar his exquisite beauty! Quick, fetch guards and secure him. I cannot let such beauty pass me by. I must have it…"

The monastery head, his acolytes, and the librarian made no move. They feared the senators, but did not want to be part of Oliver's scheme. The leonine-faced senator shrugged in a bored way, as if to say, _Suit yourself, but I am not helping_.

Finally, Valtome said, "Only if you share, Oliver."

Staggering to his feet, Oliver considered this for a few seconds. "Very well, then," he muttered.

Yawning languidly, Valtome took a tome from one of the acolytes and lazily flicked it open. "I know I promised to show you boys my new Valaura at the demonstration at three o'clock, but you shall have to settle for a preview now. I find the poisonous factor to be invaluable, as it weakens opponents delightfully."

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. That instinct was still strong in the laguz, and herons had always taken the latter option. Now, however, Sephiran would have to fight to flee. His knuckles turned white on the cover of his Ellight.

He would get no help from the monks. However, as his gaze flicked across them, the librarian gave him a small nod. It seemed to say, _Blast your way out if you have to; I'll make your excuses. Just get out of here._

Valtome opened his mouth to begin his spell. In that instant, Sephiran flung his Ellight wide, his lips already shaping the words of the ancient language. This copy of Ellight was an invocation to the light spirit Sol, and golden sunlight welled up from the pages, flowing through Sephiran's fingers and condensing in the air. It split into half a dozen spirals, twisting through the air to strike the foppish senator.

Before Valtome could do more than gasp, dropping his own tome- of course, he would have high magical resistance-, Sephiran had duplicated the attack, smacking him again with as much power as he could throw into the Ellight. Thank goodness for the speed of the bird tribes.

At the second blow, Valtome staggered back, slumping against the librarian's counter. Sephiran bolted forward, racing past the startled Lekain and slipping between the two acolytes to squeeze through the half-opened doors. Once in the passageway, he did not stop but bolted for the outer door of the monastery and the sweet freedom of the streets.

* * *

Sephiran was mildly surprised the senators did not hunt him down and arrest him for assaulting one of their number. Later, he reflected that they might have tried, but without being officially registered as a light sage or bishop of Begnion they could not look up his records in their databases. He had not even told the librarian his name, let alone a class, and he felt quite certain that none of them would be able to recognize or locate his magical signature, so thorough were his otherworldly disguises. They would have to hunt through every school of magic in Begnion to find him, a wandering sage whose appearance no one could remember precisely and who never told anyone anything about himself.

Perhaps, Lekain might have thought Oliver merely got what was coming to him for his perversity, and was willing to hush up the matter of the insult to one of his political brethren rather than institute a nationwide manhunt.

At any rate, Sephiran was wise enough not to linger to find out. He had left Sienne by nightfall, vowing that as long as Lekain, Valtome, and Oliver were members of the Begnion senate that route was closed to him. Sephiran did not have the raw courage of the beast tribe; he could not face them again. He would have to find another way to free the laguz slaves in Begnion.

His wanderings took him to the edges of the Grann Desert. Rumors in local towns informed him that escaped laguz slaves liked to hide in the desert from their angry masters, counting on the harsh terrain and fierce sandstorms to deter any beorc pursuit. Lehran wondered if he could confirm these rumors for himself and offer any assistance to the escaped slaves. At the very least, vanishing into the vast wastes of the Grann Desert would help to cover his trail, if the senators were searching for him.

He laid his hand on his medallion. "You have never been here before, either, have you, Yune?" he said idly. "The Grann emerged in the aftermath of the… well, of the Great Flood. The waters carved out the canyons and salt plains, leaving behind these walls of rock and sand. It is the same for the Desert of Death on the northeastern edge of Daein, I believe."

Yune gave no sign that she had heard him and slept on.

* * *

With his lessened need for food and increased tolerance to the elements, Sephiran wandered through the sand dunes and pebble-strewn wadis, searching for any sign of laguz life. Occasionally, he employed friendly wind-spirits to clear a path for him across the dunes. They obliged happily enough, glad to find someone new to talk to in the wilderness. Most of the time, when they were bored, they were forced to create some excitement for themselves by stirring up a sandstorm.

_Are there any laguz here, in your domain?_ Sephiran asked them.

_Yes, yes,_ they chirruped, pointing him towards a seemingly empty section of sand and heat-blasted rock. They would not say any more, but only danced all around him, elemental tails creating green, silvery, and gray patterns in the air of the spirit dimension as they followed him.

Sephiran was pondering how strange it would seem to someone other than him to realize that he saw in two dimensions- that of the physical world and that of the spirits. He walked and lived and both equally, and sometimes it seemed to him that the spirit world had become more real to him than the physical world during his millennia of existence, particularly after his separation from Altina and Sephora. Without his heron children, without his short-lived beorc family, he no longer had any tie to the physical world to ground him other than his heart-felt duty to Ashunera's children. Sometimes he feared that his magic would dissolve his frail physical shell and he would dwindle to no more than a wraith, a disembodied mind on the breeze.

Suddenly, the ex-heron paused, glancing around. He had felt something, like a flicker of a life signature, beneath the sand. Beneath the sand? What on Tellius could possibly be living under the sand? No small nocturnal animal or colony of termites would amass that strong a life presence. This seemed more like a beorc or a laguz… _Surely_ the beorc legend of giant worms living under the sand was just that, no more than a legend…

"…Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Hello to you, too," said a cheerful voice from behind him.

Sephiran whirled around. As if he had materialized out of thin air, a swordsman dressed in purple and black stood there, his outer coat tugged only halfway on, with one sleeve left to dangle behind him. A shaggy mess of green hair hung about his face, covering his forehead and one eye. Though one could hardly expect visitors out in the desert, he was smiling as if he had been expecting Sephiran to drop by for a cup of tea or something.

Sephiran felt his jaw drop. "…_Soan?"_ he murmured, shocked to his very roots by the sudden apparition of the green lion laguz he had last seen seven hundred and forty-nine years ago.

If the man had laughed heartily, thrown an arm around his shoulders, and told him that he did not look a day over a thousand years, Sephiran would have at once firmly believed that it was indeed Soan, either returned from the dead or miraculously preserved for over seven centuries.

Instead, the green-haired man raised his eyebrows. "Now, that's a new one," he said to no one in particular. "I have never had anyone mistake me for an acquaintance of theirs before."

"I beg your pardon," said Sephiran, recovering himself, "but you do resemble someone I once knew very well. He must have died a long time ago, however."

"A _very_ long time ago?" the swordsman guessed.

Sephiran gave him a curious look.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, neither of us is exactly _young_," said the green-haired man. "Come now. Our kind can recognize each other… neither laguz nor beorc. We do not belong with anyone, do we? For that is why you have come to the unforgiving Grann, is it not?"

"I came because I want to assist the cause of the laguz slaves treated so unjustly in Begnion," said Sephiran. "Neither laguz nor beorc… I do not understand what you mean."

The swordsman shook his head impatiently. Sephiran was reminded of Soan tossing his mane and sitting down to groom his paws during a particularly boring council meeting. "You do not? Surely you know that the beorc call us the Branded and the laguz call us the Parentless. We're a curse upon the world, outcasts who should never have been born. We are crimes against the goddess."

"What…? Crimes against the… I have no idea what you are talking about," Sephiran confessed, bewildered. "There are more of you? I only knew of one child of a laguz and a beorc…"

"Oh, yes, there are more of us," said the green-haired man grimly. "Beorc treat us just as badly as they do the laguz, or worse, if at all possible. Laguz like to pretend we do not exist. But we do. There are more of us than either the beorc or the laguz would like to admit."

Sephiran was speechless. All this time he had believed that Sephora had been completely and utterly unique. Instead, had she merely been the first?

"Other laguz and beorc… have had children?" he repeated, almost numbly.

"Yes. It's still a rare occurrence, though," said the swordsman. "Most beorc-laguz unions are infertile. Still, now and then a child will be born. Sometimes the child appears as no more than a beorc, and may live his entire life as one of them, and the curse will strike one of his descendants instead. Most of the time, however, before the child is grown a mark will appear upon his body, branding him as the product of an impure union. And then… he becomes an outcast from society. He lives longer than other beorc, and he may have powers beyond their lot. In return, though, the laguz parent always seems to lose his own heritage."

Sephiran set down his bookbag upon the sand, staring blankly at the horizon. "…This explains so much," he murmured.

"I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news," said the green-haired man kindly. "I had assumed you knew all this. Magic usage can extend one's life only so far, 'tis said."

"Oh, it _was_ magic, in my case," said Sephiran, his mind lost somewhere in the past, "magic out of my control. However, this explains so much… about what happened later…"

He remained silent for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around the news. So that was nature's price for a laguz-beorc child, the laguz's birthright? Ashunera never decreed such a thing; she had no hand in the evolution of the Zunanma and their descendants. And why did this man believe that such children were cursed? Sephiran could not believe that. No one had believed such a thing over seven centuries ago…

The green-haired swordsman waited patiently, but with curiosity now behind his kindness.

"I am sorry," said Sephiran finally. "Please forgive my ignorance. I… it was a surprise, but it makes so much sense to me. My name is Sephiran… or, at least, that is the name I go by now."

"I am Stefan," said the green-haired man, smiling. "Pleased to meet you, Sephiran."

"I have no wish to be offensive, but…" Sephiran hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "You are one of these… so-called Branded, then?"

For answer, Stefan reached up and brushed away the green bangs covering his forehead. A green mark seemed to have been tattooed there. Sephiran let out a slow breath.

"I do not know whose fault this was," said Stefan. "My parents were ordinary beorc; I bear no resemblance to them. Whoever committed the crime lived long ago, so long ago that no one now remembers. You must imagine my surprise when you mistook me for someone else."

Sephiran smiled sadly. "I may be able to surprise you some more. Your mark… it looks like the writing we magic users use to record magic. I cannot read it all… but it speaks of the beast tribe. Given that, and your appearance…" Sephiran tilted his head. If he but imagined green facial markings on the man standing before him now, and perhaps leonine ears half hidden among the green hair, he could have convinced himself that Soan stood before him again.

_I miss you, old friend, more than ever. Faithful and hard-working to the end, and you stood by Altina and helped her rule her kingdom when I could not. Have you returned to me now, in this hour when I feel that I am alone against the world?_

"I am not afraid of your speculation," Stefan told him steadily.

"Well," said Sephiran, with a bit of a laugh, "you mightn't believe me, if I told you. Do you know of the story of Ashera's Three Heroes? People in Begnion still seem to know of it, though much of the truth has been obscured by time."

Stefan frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm. It's been a long time since I heard that one. Something about the grand story of creation, the Zunanma who evolved into beorc…"

"They were the ancestors of _both_ the beorc and the laguz," Sephiran corrected him, confused.

Stefan raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Well, of course the beorc wouldn't like to tell it that way, I guess," he said. "Ashera's Three Heroes? Well, there was something about a dark god who had to be defeated and sealed away, and they were blessed by Ashera to do just that. One was the Dragon-King of Goldoa, and one was Altina, the first ruler of Begnion. I remember that much. Whoever the other Hero was, he was never mentioned much."

"No, with the prejudice Begnion has embraced, I would imagine he has been ignored through the years," said Sephiran sadly. "It's such a shame. He did so much for Begnion in its early years. Be that as it may, his name was Soan. He was a green lion."

"A lion," repeated Stefan, deadpan.

"Yes. I have met blue, silver, and green tigers, and white, black, and reddish-orange lions, but he was the first and only green lion I ever met," said Sephiran. "He was a good friend of mine, and he was Altina's staunchest ally in running her new kingdom. After she died, he ruled it until her child was old enough to assume the responsibility."

Sephiran had wanted to go to Altina's funeral, wanted it so desperately, even if he could not greet Soan or Sephora. Dheginsea had forbidden it. Sephiran recalled holing up in a corner of the library, looking out the window at the skies now inaccessible to him, clutching his silent medallion and weeping for what was no longer his.

"I miss him," Sephiran added, barely audible.

Watching him, Stefan appeared to come to some sort of decision. "It was _certainly_ no accident I found you today," he finally said. "Under this hot sun is no place for a proper conversation. Come with me."

* * *

It turned out that Stefan and other Branded who had formed a tiny community in the midst of the unforgiving Grann had excavated tunnels and lodgings for themselves out of the rock and earth beneath the sand. Down there, out of the glare of the sun, it was cool during the day and warm during the night, and they could keep out the poisonous asps and other unsavory creatures. It also helped them avoid detection from occasional patrols of the Begnion army, which swept the area sometimes in search of escaped laguz slaves on behalf of the nation and populace.

"I am by myself at present," said Stefan, almost apologetically. "Some of us leave at whiles, to wander Tellius or just to go get fresh supplies, or other matters. I've wandered Tellius myself in the past, but for now I'm content with Grann. In a weird sort of way, it has become my home in a way that no other place has. You could almost say I _am_ the desert."

"So am I intruding upon your territory?" asked Sephiran.

"No, no, of course not!" Stefan laughed. "Not you. I cannot quite understand it, but there is something about you… something about that makes me want to trust you, to confide in you. It was not merely the fact that I believed you one of my kind…"

"You said it was no accident you found me," observed Sephiran.

"It wasn't," said Stefan, slowly, as if turning over some strange occurrence in his mind. "I do walk the desert at times, but I would not have found you today, had I not been led there. This… bird appeared to me. It was not any sort of bird I have seen before in the Grann, but a small, chubby, orange-feathered thing. It seemed to appear out of the sunrise, and flew straight for me. It landed on my shoulder, twittering at me as if it had things to tell me. Now, I am no stranger to odd events, but this took the cake. I wondered if it were a sign, so when the bird flew off and seemed to want me to follow, I followed. And I found you."

"A little orange bird…" Sephiran repeated, "…coming out of the sunrise…"

Stefan shrugged. "Likely a trick of the eyes. The desert sun can do strange things to a man's mind, even if he has lived there all his life."

"No, I believe it was a sign," said Sephiran. "I cannot understand it fully, but… I think it was a sign, and it gives me hope. …It has been a long time since I had any hope."

"Hope cannot live in Begnion," said Stefan, not harshly, but as if reluctantly stating a painful truth. "That country grows worse with each year, and not all of it can be laid at the feet of the follies and vices of people, laguz and beorc alike. I smelled a foulness on the air, the last time I was abroad." Stefan wrinkled his nose, as if that unpleasant odor lingered with him still and he wished to be rid of it. "It was then I decided the Grann, as unforgiving as it may be, was a healthier environment for me and my own kind than the rest of Tellius."

Sephiran leaned forward, hands clasped together. Stefan had led him to a small underground room, lit by small oil lamps, the walls hung with mats patterned with the reds, browns, and blacks of the Grann sands. It was amazing how at home Stefan seemed to be in that crude setting, as if he truly were a lion born to the wastelands, ruler of the domain he had selected for himself.

"So you, too, believe there is some evil at work beyond the darkness of men?" asked Sephiran.

Stefan considered this. "I would not say I believe it to be so," he said. "I do not know much about magic and the ways of the spirits. I trust my nose, however, and _something_ didn't seem quite right. That is all I can say."

Sephiran let out a breath. "For many years now the pattern of events in Tellius has seemed odd to me," he confessed. "I am groping in the dark, I have no idea for what I am searching or even what I suspect… but I _must_, because I would still like to save the people."

"The people who hate our kind?" asked Stefan, not rudely, just curiously.

"…They are still all just children," said Sephiran sadly, "spiteful, mean children sometimes, throwing sticks at the others… but I remember when they were young and kinder, and I wish to have those days again."

Stefan laced his fingers together, lips pursed as he thought. "I have no wish to be offensive, but… you are far, far older than me, are you not? Are you the oldest of our kind?"

"Ah, no, no, I am not," said Sephiran. He smiled sadly, absent-mindedly running his left hand over the back of his right, where the mark had appeared on Sephora's skin. "I was the father of the oldest of your kind."

Stefan blinked. "So you mean…"

"I do not know why you believe you are cursed," said Sephiran. "I had never heard of such a thing, when my child was born. In fact, there was rejoicing, for never before had laguz and beorc had a child together. It was seen as great progress: perhaps, one day, the races would be united once more, as they had been in the Zunanma. No divine proclamation had been issued regarding such unions; Ashera was already asleep in the Tower of Guidance by then."

Stefan sat up straight. "You are telling me that the belief that that my kind is cursed, product of tainted blood, is a lie?"

Sephiran spread his hands. "You have been honest with me, Stefan, so I feel that I must repay you by being completely honest. My original name was Lehran, and I have lived in Tellius longer than any other being alive. I was the forefather of the heron race. In the war of the Three Heroes, I was the one who sang the goddesses to sleep. And…" Sephiran paused, before forcing himself to continue. "And I was the husband of Altina, and the father of her child. We believed our daughter… Sephora… we believed she would be no more than a beorc. Then one day… I lost my power- my galdrar, everything- and the mark appeared here, on the back of her hand."

Sephiran held up his own hand, tracing with his fingers the rough outline of the mark seared upon his memory. "We believed my power had left me and entered her. But never, ever did we once believe that what Altina and I had done was wrong or condemned in some way. I cannot explain where that belief has come from. The goddess never mandated it."

Stefan took several moments to absorb this. Then he leaned back against the earthen wall and laughed hysterically, as if the revelation had been too much for him. Sephiran watched him, troubled, until he finally managed to compose himself.

"It's just… it's… it's such a magnificent lie!" Stefan finally gasped out. "I think you are telling the truth. Your words… they just _ring true_, somehow, I can feel it. But that all these years of pain and suffering, not just for me, but for all my kind, that they should have been for nothing…"

"…I cannot think who would start such a rumor…" murmured Sephiran, horrified himself as he imagined what could have befallen his daughter. Did any such trace as this of his powers linger in the bloodlines of the Empresses of Begnion? Did the people know? Surely they did not, since all their history books would have told them that Sephora was the daughter of two beorc.

"I can," said Stefan. "The wealthy beorc of Begnion, and the general populace of Daein. Daein was colonized by the most radical laguz haters from Begnion, of course. That's not to say that all Daeins are insane bigots, however. I passed through there on my last travel through Tellius. I met quite a bright, reasonable lad, named Gwain… taught him quite a few things about how to use a sword, too," he added, thoughtfully. "However, the majority have no love for laguz. They will believe almost anything vile about them, since it is what they _want_ to belief. Persuading themselves that any union between laguz and beorc is intrinsically tainted and forbidden by the goddess would not be hard for them."

"I am so sorry…" Sephiran said quietly.

"The whole mess is not exactly your fault," said Stefan. "How could I blame you? You loved your daughter very much. I could hear it in your voice."

Sephiran nodded numbly, forcing himself not to give in to the tears he could feel pricking his eyes. "I wish I could have seen her grow up… But I have spent most of the past seven hundred and a half years in Goldoa."

"Why?"

"It was for my own good, I will admit," Sephiran said, running a hand through his hair. "When I lost my birth right, I… it messed me up badly. I tried killing myself several times. Eventually, the Dragon-King made excuses for me and took me back to Goldoa. Sometimes I have wondered if it all would have turned out better if he had simply killed me."

"Maybe there was still a purpose to your life," Stefan said quietly.

"I thought I _had_ found a purpose again. I thought I could work to free the laguz slaves in Begnion," said Sephiran. "But what can one man do alone? Year after year I watch the hatred only increase…"

"No, you will never be able to do it alone," said Stefan. "You need allies. I do not know how much I can help you in this. I have no influence, save in Grann. Yet I do not think you should expect too much of the Begnion legislature. The senators are the largest slave-owners in Begnion."

Sephiran winced. "Hardly surprising."

Stefan looked interested. "Have you had your own run-in with those charming men?"

"Part of the reason I came to the Grann is because I am hiding from them," Sephiran admitted sheepishly.

"Oh, really?" Stefan grinned. "What did you do?"

"I sort of hit one with a book," said Sephiran. "An Ellight tome, to be precise."

Something akin to hero-worship flickered in Stefan's eyes. "You hit a senator… with a book."

"In my defense, I was minding my own business in a monastery library, when they barged in. One of them began acting very creepily towards me," Sephiran explained. "No one else moved to intervene, so… I hit him. Knocked him out, too."

Stefan laughed. "Hahahahaha… I wish I could have seen that. I'll bet he never saw it coming… Hahahaha…" Composing himself, he added, "If I may ask, which senator was it?"

"The Duke of Tanas."

Stefan paused, then burst out laughing again. "You knocked out… Oliver?" he asked, chuckling helplessly. "I've heard of him… helped a few of his slaves escape to Gallia… By all accounts, he is not a pretty sight. Hahahaha… How I wish I could have seen that!"

"It may also interest you to learn that I had to hit Senator Valtome with Ellight twice to get out of there," Sephiran continued.

Still chuckling, Stefan reached over and patted Sephiran on the shoulder. "You, my friend, are officially amazing," he said. "Don't feel too bad. You cannot have burned any bridges that were not worth burning. Your best bet, I think, is to go to your great-times-a-hundred-granddaughter, Empress Misaha. She may be able to get things done the senate would never be moved to do otherwise."

Sephiran shook his head. "They will have forgotten me long ago," he said. "Officially, Sephora was the daughter of a beorc man. The records were written down that way."

Stefan frowned. "Surely they recall _something_. After all, they live longer than most beorc- not _too_ much, but I've been around long enough to notice. Herons are one of the longest-lived races, am I correct?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And so Sephiran's encounters with people you might recognize begin. I had fun with this chapter. I tried hard to make everyone sound in character, and if I have failed just flame me or something.

A note on the Nosferatu/Resire mix-up might be helpful. Riddle me this: _Resire_ was the name of the tome when it was considered dark magic in _Sword of Seals_. When it became light magic in later games, it was renamed _Nosferatu_. This just makes no sense to me. Therefore, for the purposes of my little headcanon world, I have decided that _Nosferatu_ was the original dark magic spell, which some crazy magician shoddily converted into a light magic format but never renamed. Later, someone else tried to 'clean it up' and make it less sinister, and _then_ they renamed it _Resire_, having produced something a bishop or a light sage could feel comfortable wielding. However, this is just me making up stuff in order to make a series of video games make some sort of sense to me, so feel free to ignore me!

A note on the senators might also help. I honestly have no idea how Sephiran tolerated years of them canonically. I just don't think if he had known he would get stalked by Oliver the whole time (_tell me_ Oliver didn't do it – just look at their battle convo!) he would have done it. Or perhaps he would have, anyway.

In this fic, though, he encounters the senators before the Serenes Massacre and decides, _Nope, can't do it_. A perfectly reasonable reaction, I think.

I also find it hard to believe that Sephiran would tolerate years of those senators without personally killing them for their dealings in the laguz slave trade. I believe that, if he had known about the Oliver-Reyson fiasco, he would have strangled the fat man himself. After all, he swore to wipe out the entirety of existence after the Serenes Massacre. Then again, in this fic Sephiran is portrayed as more determined and decisive than he is at times in the game, so it could all just be perception on my part.

YMMV on everything, my lovelies!

Also, _tell me_ Valtome is not either gay or bi. Take his creepy fascination with Zelgius, for starters. Or his blatant disapproval of Elincia. And his obsession with clothes. (Note his remarks about the armor of the Crimea Royal Knights if you have Kieran fight him.)

As for the names of the light and seraph spirits, I made them up, drawing primarily on various mythologies. Other spirits will be named in the future. Also, I have totally made up the distinction between the various types of spirits. You'd think that, for referencing them from time to time, FE would explain something about them. Apparently not.

Stefan? Yes, I like Stefan. He's an awesome character. I didn't have room to bring him with me into the Tower though, unfortunately. I brought his Vague Katti, though, and had it blessed (and forgot to get Alondite blessed, stupid me). Yes, I subscribe to the theory that he is a descendant of Soan. It doesn't hurt that his Japanese name is Soanvalcke.

Gawain? Yes, I mentioned Gawain. Another headcanon of mine is that Stefan taught him. After all, when you recruit Stefan in PoR, he offers to help Ike refine his swordsmanship. (The convo actually gives you a Mastery Scroll, I think, which allows Ike to learn Aether. Correct me if I'm wrong.) But how can he teach Ike if he doesn't know Ike's style of fighting? That question led to my headcanon. I think being taught by a Branded would have also opened Gawain's eyes to the prejudices against laguz and the Branded; after all, he taught Zelgius, who is Branded, and he raised Ike and Mist to be as totally unbiased against the laguz and Branded as you could wish. Since he hails from Daein, I figure his lack of prejudice has to have had a cause.

Of course, this theory of mine means that Stefan = Qui-Gon Jinn, Gawain = Obi-Wan Kenobi, Zelgius = Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, Ike = Luke Skywalker. You cannot unsee it now.

- No, I don't actually think that Ike is Zelgius's son. Don't take me _that_ literally!

However, I do have a theory about Ike's family which shall be (hopefully) mentioned in later chapters. For now, however, we follow Sephiran through Begnion.

Spinner here, signing out.


	5. Hope Rekindled

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

- Some of the dialogue in this chapter is adapted from the game script. I obviously do not own the game script.

* * *

Hope Rekindled

Stefan's advice was good, Sephiran felt, but it was more easily said than carried out. They parted on good terms, Sephiran promising to return and visit when he could.

"Find me when you are in this area again," Stefan urged him. "We can sit and talk, without the weight of the world."

"I will."

As he left the Grann Desert, however, Sephiran noticed that he had not spoken to Stefan of Yune, safely kept in his medallion. He had not planned it, but perhaps it was for the best. Yune's safety might be precarious. Her medallion could not be destroyed by force, unless his magic upon it were destroyed- and Sephiran himself did not know if even his own death would destroy his magic upon it-, so she was technically safe. Still, Sephiran worried about her.

His fingers curled around the medallion. "I will not let them take you from me, Yune," he whispered.

Even so, he thought he could feel hostile eyes upon them, alone in the wastelands of the great Grann.

* * *

Reaching the empress was difficult. She lived locked up in Mainal Cathedral, removed from the everyday affairs of the common people of Begnion, perpetually under the shadow of the Tower of Guidance, wherein Ashera slept. Her pegasus knights guarded her most diligently, and the most well-trained of saints and bishops had turned Mainal into a veritable magical fortress, bricked with wards and traps to keep evil spirits and other hostile forces away. Sneaking in was hardly an option.

Sephiran considered it anyway.

Four years after he met Stefan, Sephiran began reaping results. He had been delayed by Oliver spotting him by chance in Sienne (and subsequently by the senator chasing him through the streets, wailing about his "perfect beauty"), and had had to flee Begnion again for a while. He had taken refuge in Crimea, ruled by King Ramon.

Crimea proved to be a surprisingly tolerable place. It had been settled by more laguz-friendly beorc refugees from Begnion, and had diplomatic relations with neighboring Gallia. Sephiran could only applaud those efforts, and hope they came to fruition.

Returning to Begnion, Sephiran became aware that Stefan had been right: the air _was _different in Begnion. He saw neither hide nor hair of darkness or chaos spirits, yet gloom and disgruntlement pervaded the atmosphere. With so many light magic users and monasteries, Begnion should have been a beacon of light and order, shining out across the stars. Instead…

Instead, beorc kept their fellow laguz as slaves, and rottenness lay deep down at the heart of it all, where Sephiran could not perceive it.

Sephiran's chance came on a feast day, when her holiness, the Empress Misaha, came to the temple to lead the chanted praises of Ashera, their beloved Goddess of Order and Reason. Throngs of common people crowded into Mainal to get a glimpse of the Apostle and receive her blessing.

That title puzzled Sephiran. It had been applied to him, as the Voice of the Goddess. Apparently, it had later been bestowed on Sephora's descendants. It seemed they could occasionally see the future and speak the will of the goddess. Did Misaha also bear a mark upon the back of her right hand? If so, how had the empresses kept it a secret for so long?

Sephiran joined the happy worshippers in Mainal Cathedral. The main nave was vast, with a red carpet stretching down the center to the altar, which was mainly decorative. On the wall behind it was a mosaic of a luminous being, rising out of the dawn, plainly intended to be Ashera. Sephiran's heart ached. To him, who had seen Ashera and Yune side by side, it did not resemble so much the emotionless Ashera, in her black gown with her cold eyes, as it did Ashunera, warm-hearted and happy, greeting her beloved children.

_I miss you, my sister, my mother._

On either side of the carpet sat many rows of long pews, which had been considerately cushioned for the comfort of the rear ends of the commoners. Once a week some high-ranking priest would generally ascend to the golden pulpit and preach the laws of Ashera, laws of goodness and order and reason. Then a few hymns would be sung, and the congregation would be dismissed.

Sephiran could not bring himself to attend these services. They seemed too cold and distant, too much unlike the face-to-face communication he had enjoyed with Ashunera. He could only clutch Yune's medallion and turn away, tears in his eyes.

At the moment, Mainal had been packed to the brim. Not a pew had an empty spot. In the rear of the cathedral and along the sides of the nave, many people were standing, packing the vestibules and ambulatories for a glimpse of the empress. They wore their finest clothes, or at least their cleanest, and cheered excitedly when the empress, surrounded by her Holy Guards, entered the Cathedral.

Sephiran had arrived early, not minding a long wait. Anticipating the crowds and not afraid of heights, he had climbed up to the choir loft, trying to suppress thoughts of how he might once have simply flown. He had found himself an out-of-the-way corner, but the arriving choir members still glared at him. Perhaps it was on general principle, or perhaps it was because he had chosen to while away the time until the service began by distracting himself with a thick book about Begnion's history and an apple. Likely food wasn't allowed in the church. However, he really didn't care.

From his excellent birds-eye-view- Sephiran mentally shook his head when the thought occurred to him-, he could look down upon the imperial procession as it inched down the red carpet. The facets of the armor of the ladies of the Holy Guard gleamed like prisms in the light from the stained-glass windows- mercifully, they had left their pegasi outside. Senators in rows of two walked behind the imperial family to their reserved seating in the front of Mainal. The organ and choir could not be heard over the delighted yells of the populace.

Sephiran did not need to be told which member of the imperial party was Empress Misaha. His gaze flew immediately to the small woman in the bright red cloak, her purple hair pulled back and pinned with jewels. She carried herself upright with quiet grace and dignity, a tiny island of serenity amidst the tumultuous congregation. Behind her walked what Sephiran could only assume to be her husband and her son, with his own small family.

To the fanfare of silver trumpets, the imperial family arrived at the sanctuary of the church. Misaha stepped up to the altar and turned to face the crows, holding up her hands for silence. The cheering died away, and Misaha smiled and waved her hand in thanks. She sat down upon her throne, to one side of the sanctuary, with her Holy Guards stepping precisely into formation, one for each corner of the throne. The opening hymn then began.

_The long sleep has ended_

_A dazzling light fills the sky_

_Radiant, unfulfilled dream, dream_

_Setting out, resolute, go, go…_

With some remote part of his mind, Sephiran recognized the talent of the choir members and the energy of the choir director who had to train them and organize them, mostly unthanked. The musicians also did a lovely job. The rather tuneless singing of the congregation was at least enthusiastic.

However, the majority of Sephiran's mind was elsewhere engaged. He knew the song! It had been one of Ashunera's favorites. It had been something he had sung to her occasionally, remembering how he had first seen her framed against the new morning.

How did these people know it, translated into the modern language though it was? By what miracle or art of the goddess had it come about?

Altina…

Sephiran could recall singing it around Altina. It would have been directed primarily towards Yune in her medallion, of course, but now that he thought about it he remembered Altina once asking him what he had been singing. To oblige her, he had sung it in her language, too. She must have remembered it, writting down the lyrics and melody, cherishing it as a memory of him and bequeathing it unchanged to the religion of Order and Reason that had sprung up, devoted to Ashera…

_Oh, Altina…_

Sephiran had already risen with the rest of the congregation, but now he closed his eyes, irrepressible tears stinging them. Hands clenched on the railing of the balcony, he let his grief and love pour forth in the song that had not crossed his lips in centuries. Keeping the memory of Altina's interest in mind, he managed to stay away from the lyrics in the spirit tongue, and simply sang for the hope he had once had and which had almost deserted him now.

Once, his magic would have set the congregation on fire with the sound of his voice, but even now, galdrar-less, it cut through the tuneless devotion of the commoners and the practiced skill of the choir to rise, a pure filament of love become melody, to the skies.

_I hold your promise in my hands_

_I show you a future full of hope_

_Resound, my voice, far and high_

_The birdsong_

_The distant sky_

_The distant sky_

Furtively, Sephiran wiped his face with the heel of his hand as the last notes of the organ died away. He did not look round to see if the choir members were staring at him, appalled or amazed, or if they had even noticed. He sat down again with the rest of the congregation as a priest attached to the Mainal Cathedral ascended to the pulpit to preach.

However, out of the corner of his eye he did notice Empress Misaha was staring up at the choir loft with an expression even his keen avian sight could not decipher.

* * *

Sephiran could not explain it. He just had the feeling that if he remained in Mainal, he would eventually be able to reach Misaha. It took some sneakiness, however.

The more devout worshippers remained behind for a few minutes after the conclusion of the service, but after thirty minutes all the choir members and musicians had departed. Mainal was as silent as a tomb. Sephiran sat on the balcony railing of the choir loft and watched dust motes swirl through the slanted shafts of colored light weaving through the huge belly of the church.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the patches of lights and shadows shifted. Outside, the sun climbed up to noon and sank towards the western horizon.

Still Sephiran waited. He had patience. He had had to endure four years until this moment; he could put with a few hours. If the spirits were whispering in his ears that today was the day most favorable, he would stay put.

At sundown, servants came to clean Mainal Cathedral. They made a perfunctory check of all its civilian spaces. Not expecting to find any ex-herons lingering until dark, they found none, particularly as Sephiran had found a tiny closet near the organ. He concealed himself in there, along with a broom and various other objects unidentifiable in the dark, and let himself out again once the heavy tromp of the porter's boots had faded away down the stairs.

Mainal shut up and locked for the night, Sephiran descended to the nave and walked right up to the sanctuary. With all the curiosity of an irreverent sightseer, he examined the altar, the pulpit, the Apostle's throne. Finally, he ended up standing in the apse, gazing up at the mosaic and trying his hardest not to weep again.

"Someday, Yune, you will be whole again," he whispered to the silent medallion. "I promise."

As if in answer to his prayers, a tiny light appeared in the darkness. Soft footsteps accompanied it as it approached the altar.

Sephiran turned. Two women were climbing the three steps to the sanctuary. One, mint-green hair and armor gleaming beneath her cloak in the light of the lantern she bore, was plainly a Holy Guard. The other, dressed now in much simpler attire than the finery of this morning, her golden eyes holding a lifetime of questions, was Misaha.

He felt it would be proper, so he bowed.

"I thought I would find you here," said the Empress. "Almost I heard a voice, telling me to meet you."

"Almost I heard a voice, telling me to remain here," returned Sephiran gently. "I have long wished to meet you."

"I did not know of your existence until this morning, and, yet, when I heard your voice during the service, I recognized it," said the Empress. "For I have heard it, all my life. Generation after generation, each Apostle has been blessed to hear the voice of the goddess. We are told of impending disasters, of famines and epidemics, so we may warn and guide our people. All the people of Begnion know this. Yet there is more we hear of which we do not speak."

The Empress paused, marshaling her thoughts. Beside her, the Holy Guard glanced at her with concern, but never once let down her guard. Sephiran appeared to have neither weapon nor tome, but paranoia was only proper in a bodyguard of the Apostle of Tellius.

"In addition to the voice of the goddess, we apostles have always heard another voice, a man's voice, singing in a language other than that we use every day," continued the Empress, slowly, as if she were mulling over these things as she spoke them. "Our studies of magic have led us to the belief that it is the language of the spirits we hear. Whatever the songs are, they are seared indelibly upon our minds and hearts. We cannot forget them. They run in our very blood. They are songs of power and magic, that much is clear- almost they are like the galdrar of the herons. Why we hear these songs, we have never understood. Each Empress has been able to leave no answer for her daughter, granddaughter, niece, or grandniece who succeeded her."

Again, the Empress paused. It was not so much a breathing space as it was an eloquence in itself, conveying the confusion, the desperation of generations of women burdened with the problems and dreams of a whole continent.

"I did not know of your existence until this morning, and, yet, when I heard your voice during the service, I recognized it," repeated the Empress. "For it was your voice I have heard all my life, and the voice that my mother heard all her life, and the voice that all the Apostles before me have heard all their lives. I know this in my heart to be true."

For a third time, the Empress paused. She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was, looking him fearlessly in the eye with the same expression Altina had worn when she faced oncoming troops.

"Who are you?"

Sephiran smiled slowly, and a bit sadly. "I do not know how much is remembered in your family, my child," he said kindly, "but I am the one responsible for… this." He held up his right hand and tapped his fingers on the back of it.

Misaha drew a deep breath. The Holy Guard tensed.

"If you can hear the voice of the goddess, you can also likely see the truth of what I say in my heart," added Sephiran. "If so, you know I intend you no harm, child. I never could intend you any harm."

"…You speak the truth," said the Empress at last. She glanced at the Holy Guard, and laid a hand on her arm. "He is no threat, Brynhilde."

The Holy Guard nodded, trusting her Empress, but remained with her sacred charge. Misaha made no motion to dismiss her.

"Brynhilde is my most trusted guard," said Misaha. "Sometimes I feel as if she is a sister to me. Anything said before her is as safe as a treasure in the vaults deep beneath Mainal."

"I could see her loyalty," said Sephiran with a smile. "It does her great credit." Looking at Brynhilde, he added, "Thank you, dear child, for guarding her so well. She needs such devoted friends about her."

The Holy Guard nodded again, her mouth opening as she tried to think of a way to acknowledge the compliment and again closing. She was bewildered, but too polite to say it.

Sephiran walked towards the two ladies, until the three of them stood in the pool of light cast by the lantern, hard fast by the high altar of Mainal Cathedral. He spread his hands.

"What would you like me to explain, child?" he asked the Empress. "Shall I start from the beginning?"

"The Empresses have known many things that officially never happened," said Misaha, clasping her hands. "We know that Sephora was not the child of Rufus, and that a green lion named Soan, one of Ashera's Three Heroes, was her regent when Altina died. We know our powers came from Altina's first husband, Lehran of the heron tribe, and that it was from him we received the office of Apostle of Tellius." She frowned a moment, then added, "That name has been a sore point, if such it can be called, with Serenes Forest for many years. They maintain that none other than their Great Father can be called such."

"Dheginsea told them I died," Sephiran observed, "and they accepted his word. However, they never _felt_ my passing, and so their hearts still believe I live. Until they remember that you are my children and learn that my office has passed in its entirety to you, they will continue to believe that I, and I alone, am the Apostle."

"Such loyalty, after so many years," Misaha murmured admiringly. "What did they think of it, when you left them for a beorc?"

"I never truly left them," said Sephiran, "since I remained in their hearts. No, they did not think ill of me for uniting with a beorc. Misaha…" Sephiran laid his hand on her shoulder. "Do not believe that you are cursed. Another one, marked such as you, told me of this strange belief that the Branded, as you are called, are the result of a union forbidden by the goddess. It is a lie. I know not how it came about, but it is a lie.

"Do you think that I, who had been blessed by the goddess, would have disobeyed her so flagrantly as that? No, the beorc and the laguz have but one and the same origin, the Zunanma. I know. I was there. I was the first heron to emerge from the Zunanma. I greeted her with the song you heard this morning. I saw her mourn for her warring children. I saw the Great Flood, and how the goddess tore herself in two. I lived through the War of the Goddesses, and it was I who sang Ashera to sleep in the Tower of Guidance. I knew her will and her intentions, as no other did. And _not once_ did she ever forbid the unions of laguz and beorc. Such a thought would never have occurred to her. They were all her children.

"The people of Begnion rejoiced when I married Altina. They thought it a very great and good thing that the Apostle should marry their Queen. When my daughter, Sephora, was born, laguz and beorc alike rejoiced. Never had such a thing happened before. We wondered if the two races might become one again, and thus harmony be restored to Tellius.

"I know not how or why my power left me and entered Sephora. Perhaps it is nature's price for such a child, that the laguz parent must sacrifice what is most dear to him, his own identity, for the little one he has given life to. I never intended, however, to bring my burdens and my duties upon you. I can never fully apologize to you for making you the Apostle, or for the fact that society has seen fit to hate your kind, but I cannot and will not ever apologize to you for the fact that you are alive, a distant daughter of a beorc and a heron."

Misaha's eyes were bright with unshed tears. She could hear truth echo in every word he spoke, and could feel the love that flowed through them. It seemed like clean water, washing all the years of secret self-loathing away.

The Empress tugged at her sleeve. Like many magicians, she wore extra-long sleeves that extended to cover the palms and backs of her hands, the fabric joined together by a ring on the middle finger. Usually, the sleeves were embroidered with runes to protect against hostile magic. Now she slipped this covering off her right hand, exposing the mark upon the skin.

"_This_ has been the greatest secret the Apostles ever kept," said Misaha. "Long ago we learned how to work a magic binding on it, to keep it hidden from the sight of others, but we could only ever do it for ourselves. We could not help other Branded in this way, we know not why. Your magic that we inherited is a strange thing, Great Father. Every time we thought we could understand it, it surprised us again. We reckoned we were outcast children, born of chaos and bound by no rules. It has plagued us for so long. I… Guilt tore at me, every day, as I hid this mark from my people, constantly deceiving them about my true nature. The Apostles have even had to relinquish their hold on life early, so as not to seem much longer-lived than the rest of the beorc. But now…"

Misaha raised her head. "Now I have no more shame. Now that I have met you, I understand my heritage. I will break this web of lies that has been woven, and, as is my duty as the Apostle, I will proclaim the truth to Tellius. I will reveal to the world that I am one of the Branded. All peoples must see that there is no shame in my nature. Hiding what I am is to condone the hatred. I must risk a little in order to shatter the glass and allow the beorc and laguz to live again as they once did- one people, under one goddess."

Beside the Empress, Brynhilde drew in a horrified breath.

Sephiran thought of Lekain's bored face, Valtome's amused narcissism, and Oliver's lust for all things beautiful. He thought of Arnolf of Numida, cruelty in his steel-gray eyes and small, steel-gray moustache. He thought of a morbid, blue-haired king sitting on his throne in Daein, ordering the deaths of all laguz fleeing Begnion to be killed on the spot if found in his territory. He thought of Dheginsea, who would not move, who had made excuses for him and dragged him away to keep him in a dusty tower for seven centuries.

Sephiran thought of Stefan, laughing like a madman at the thought that he had suffered so much hatred for a lie. He thought of Sephora, her tiny hand clamped onto his finger. He thought of Rajaion, wishing him good luck. He thought of the children yet unborn who did not deserve to be labeled as sinners from conception, treated as less than the sub-human.

Aloud he said, "It is a beautiful and brave thing you propose, Misaha. Yet you will be the epicenter of the storm that will follow it. Words cannot express the danger you will place yourself in."

"Listen to him, Empress," Brynhilde urged him. "If you did this, even your Holy Guard might not be able to protect you. The senators would marshal all the forces of the earth and under the earth that they command against you."

"If I give in to them, I am not worthy to be called the Apostle," said Misaha firmly. "I will have no half-measures. I will free the laguz slaves without the senate. I cannot allow the kinsman of my forefather, of myself, to remain in bondage any longer. Then I will reveal to the world my true nature. I will not be deterred. If I must lead Begnion, and by extension all of Tellius, I cannot allow it to be corrupted by prejudice and hatred. I can put the life the goddess has given me to no greater use or to a more glorious risk than this."

Brynhilde gazed at her tearfully. "My Empress…" she murmured. "If this is your will…"

"It is."

"If this is your will, then I shall obey." Brynhilde laid her hand on her heart. "And I shall say that I have never felt the honor of serving you more keenly than I do in this moment."

Misaha laid her hand on the Holy Guard's arm. "Thank you, Brynhilde," she said, quiet but fervent.

The Empress then turned to her forefather.

"A moment ago, you called me your Great Father," said Sephiran. "I, too, must say that I have never felt more honored by that name than I do in this moment. I see in your eyes the spirit of Altina. You have restored to me the hope I had almost lost. I know again now that there is hope for Tellius."

"Thank you, father of my mothers," said Misaha. "I strive to be worthy of the gift of life you have granted me."

Sephiran held out his arms to her, and Misaha hugged him, finding that even as a grandmother she was not too old to be the Great Father's little girl.

Wiping moist eyes, she stepped back and said, "It is not every day that relatives return to life out of the distant past. Would you like to see my family?"

* * *

The imperial family lived in a palace connected to Mainal Cathedral. Various secret passageways, known only to the family, its guards, and caretakers, also intertwined the two, explaining how Misaha and Brynhilde managed to arrive without being noticed.

"The Holy Guard has a barracks close by," said Misaha quietly, "but Brynhilde and her daughter live in apartments in the palace here. I am most grateful for her presence."

"Kirsch and Lekola are likely even more grateful for the fact that Sigrun is a capable babysitter," Brynhilde observed, amused.

Misaha smiled. "Kirsch is my son," she said, "and I love him all the more dearly, since he is also my only child. I cannot explain why the office of the Apostle passes over the male children. However, it was set long ago in Begnion law that the oldest daughter, or other female relative if there be no daughters, will become the next Empress. No man will ever rule Begnion."

"Kirsch is at peace with that," added Brynhilde.

Misaha nodded, rubbing her temples. "He is secretly glad, I think, that he will never rule," he said. "He prefers his studies of science and magic. It is traditional, Great Father, for the imperial family to have a thorough magical education. The Apostles have always had a strong command of light magic. Kirsch, alas, turned out an anima sage. That being said, he is very talented at it, and I do not speak from a mother's bias. He has even managed to craft a fire tome for himself."

"He tomebinds?" asked Sephiran, interested.

"As a sort of hobby, yes," said Misaha. "I know, it is a very difficult feat."

"I have done a little of that myself," said Sephiran, "but I have so far confined myself to light magic."

"So have I," said Misaha, "and I have warned him that he will get himself seriously hurt some day, playing around with fire and lightning, but he does not listen… Cymbeline, he calls his new tome. It creates rather a sea of flame."

"The Empress made him promise never to use it in the palace," said Brynhilde, as they walked down a dark, cold stone corridor, the tiles underneath their feet dusty with years of little traffic. Misaha had said that, as Sephiran was family, he could be brought through the secret passages.

"Ah, I did," confirmed Misaha. "Magic is not a toy. Minaki will be old enough for that, soon enough." She sighed. "Too soon, I fear. Time flies by so swiftly. It seems that only yesterday Kirsch was a little boy, and now… Now Ernst- my husband, Great Father- has begun to go gray and I am a grandmother…"

"A very proud grandmother," Brynhilde felt the need to add.

"Of course I am," said Misaha, elbowing her Holy Guard gently. "Minaki would make anyone proud. She is a beautiful child." She glanced at Sephiran. "Most of the Apostles have had purple hair."

"Altina and Sephora did," murmured Sephiran, almost parenthetically.

"Minaki takes after her mother, however," continued Misaha. "Lekola is a very fine young woman. Kirsch met her before they were betrothed, and I think he fell in love with her for her hair. It's silver-white, and quite pretty. She is also an accomplished magician herself, focusing on light magic, so I have hopes that Minaki will not play around with fire like her father. However, Lekola _does_ research hybrid magic- she is trying to fuse light and ice magic. I have told her it is hopeless, but she perseveres anyway."

"I have heard of such a phenomenon before," said Sephiran, his mind flying back to Goldoa. The ice dragons from another world who had settled in a corner of that mountainous land had almost died out, that was true, living on only in their half-blooded descendants. Sephiran recalled one such white dragon, whose light-magic-based breath was mingled with ice, who had played a minor part in the War of the Goddesses long ago. Nasir had been his name, if Sephiran's memory served him. Ashera had blessed him, as well as a few others, before she had conferred her great blessing upon Altina, Soan, and Dheginsea.

Of course, Sephiran remembered Nasir primarily because his daughter and son-in-law had died in the War of the Goddesses, and he had been left to raise his granddaughter, little Ena with her big blue eyes and pink hair. Sephiran wondered how Ena and Rajaion were, and if they had been married yet.

"You have?" said Misaha, dragging him out of his reverie. "She would love a discussion with you, if you do not mind at some time."

"We shall see," said Sephiran.

They came to the end of the passage. Setting down her lantern on a niche, Brynhilde unlocked the door. Stepping forward, Misaha tapped a sequence of magical sigils engraved on the doorframe. The door creaked open, leading into an empty cellar of sorts. After they had passed through, Misaha relocked it by magic and Brynhilde secured the padlock.

Twirling the key through her fingers before hiding it once more somewhere about her person, Brynhilde stated, "I do not tolerate half-measures. If there is more than one way to accomplish a thing, both are worth trying."

"Do you see why I like her?" Misaha asked Sephiran amiably.

Now that they had reached the living areas of the imperial family, Brynhilde went on ahead to ensure they did not run across any palace staff who might question the Empress wandering around late. Once she gestured for Misaha and Sephiran to take a different passage while she delayed a cleric who served as a maid to Lekola and Minaki. Sephiran could hear their voices as they slipped down the alternate route.

"Ah, Miss Sarah, you're up late," Brynhilde was saying.

"The little princess had a nightmare, lady commander," the cleric answered quietly, with a rustle of fabric that probably was a curtsy. "I've been sent to warm some milk for her."

"Very good. Carry on," answered Brynhilde.

Misaha glanced up at Sephiran. "The staff are used to Brynhilde prowling around at all hours of the day and night, checking to make sure they are all doing their jobs," she murmured, amusement lacing her tone. "I honestly do not know what I would do without her. I hope her daughter- Sigrun is twelve- will be just as devoted a caretaker for Minaki when she enters the Holy Guards."

Brynhilde rejoined them as Misaha paused outside the door to the imperial family's private library. The door was closed, but light shone out from underneath it. Misaha and Brynhilde exchanged glances. Misaha rapped smartly on the door.

"Not too late, Kirsch," she called.

The thud of a stack of books toppling over resounded dimly through the door. "_Mother_, I'm a grown man," came the answer. "And I am on the verge of finally understand the secret of this verb's conjugation, which is the key to all the…"

Brynhilde let her knuckles land once on the door. "Not too late, Kirsch," she said sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," said Kirsch, as meek as a lamb.

As they walked on, Misaha commented merrily, "Children are never too old to mother."

"Or mortify," added Brynhilde.

"He seems to fear you more than his mother," Sephiran commented.

"That's because he knows his mother is too fond of him to ever reprimand him very severely," explained Brynhilde. "Besides, he _does_ need to come out of there more often."

Misaha glanced at another door, from under which no light seeped. "Ah, Ernst has already turned in for the night." She glanced out a window. The waxing moon had already vanished over the horizon. "It _is_ quite late. Hmm. Brynhilde, would you be a dear and check the nursery?"

Brynhilde nodded and marched down the elegantly carpeted hall. Knocking softly on a door on the far right, she whispered something. A few moments later, the door was cracked; Sephiran glimpsed a young woman with silver-white hair replying to Brynhilde. The Holy Guard glanced down at the Empress and the ex-heron and gestured encouragingly.

"We really are quite a normal family, once all the trappings are peeled away," said Misaha, as she led the way. "I am very glad of it, too."

The nursery was warmly lit by a couple of lamps, the ruddy glow reflecting off the soft pastel colors of the walls, the rugs, and other furnishings. A crib of white wood stood against the far wall, and a rocking chair had been drawn up near it. A faint snuffling, teary noise came from the crib.

Lekola hardly seemed to be the wife of a prince and the mother of the future empress she was. She was clad in a long white nightgown, over which she had thrown a pale blue housecoat, and her silver-white hair was roughly pulled back into a loose ponytail. She smiled at her mother-in-law, but paused, perplexed, when she saw Sephiran.

"Lekola, this is a distant relative of mine…" Misaha began, uncertain of how to explain and ultimately opting to just spill the beans. "This is Lehran, the husband of Altina, the one from whom… well…" Misaha tapped the back of her right hand.

Lekola's eyes went very wide as she digested this. "…Oh. _Oh._ He's still alive?" Then she realized she had said that aloud and immediately apologized. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! I had no idea…"

"It is quite all right, dear child," said Sephiran. "The world was told I died over seven hundred years ago, and since then I have lived, not entirely by my own will, in Goldoa."

Lekola was still a bit stunned. She obviously wanted to inquire further, but was too polite to do so. "So you're the forefather… of the Apostles," she murmured. It seemed she had just been introducted to the most intimidating member of Kirsch's family yet.

"Do not trouble yourself greatly over me, dear child," said Sephiran. "At this moment, I am no more than another distant relative."

Lekola smiled slowly. "You were a heron, were you not? We are blessed to have a representative of the race most beloved of the goddess among us. I am honored to meet you."

"I am honored to meet you, as well," he answered.

Lekola made an uncertain gesture, gaze flicking to her mother-in-law. "Would you mind, Lekola, if we see Minaki?" Misaha asked.

"No, not at all," the silver-haired woman replied. "However, she is very fussy at the moment… I think she had another nightmare, and Sarah and I have been unable to calm her."

"That reminds me," muttered Brynhilde, stalking off to lean against the closed door to the hallway, ready to intercept the cleric should she return more quickly than anticipated.

Misaha had walked across the room, leaning down into the crib and straightening with a wad of squirming blankets in her arms. The sniffles and tiny hiccups increased as Misaha returned to the others.

"Minaki Kirsch Altina," she said proudly. "She is a bit small for her age, of course… Would you like to hold her?"

An indescribable joy swept Sephiran up in its embrace. The years seemed momentarily to fall away, and he could have been holding his firstborn, tiny, white-winged, blond-headed Rohren, with Reyna at his side murmuring something to him in her low, sweet voice, or he could have been holding Sephora for the first time, astonished at how precious and perfect and how like her mother his beorc child was. The years spiraled down to the present, and he stood gazing down at a little girl with silky-fine silver-white hair, the large golden eyes of all the Apostles before her staring up at him, fascinated.

"Hello, Minaki," he murmured.

Minaki opted not to comment. Instead, she reached up and grabbed a lock of his hair with her tiny fist.

"Rue used to do that, too," Sephiran recalled with a bit of a laugh.

"It's amazing," said Lekola. "She's stopped crying."

Misaha peered around Sephiran's shoulder. "She's even smiling. I think she likes you, Great Father."

"Careful, Great Father," said Brynhilde from her post by the door, unconsciously picking up on Misaha's mode of address. "They will want you to help babysit her if you remain too long." But she was smiling.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, the song to Ashera is the song that plays during the credits of _Radiant Dawn_ if you have unlocked Lehran as a playable character. It's where he and the revived Ashunera sing together. It's quite pretty, so go google it and listen to it. I wondered how they could have just made that up on the spot, so I theorized that it was a song they already both knew – hence, I decided Lehran had composed it for Ashunera long ago.

Also, I really have no idea what goes on in Mainal Cathedral or how the people of Tellius go about worshipping Ashera, so I just made up some stuff that sounded plausible. I also made up the appearance for the inside of Mainal. I assume it has an organ. I seem to recall an organ leitmotif whenever its picture appears on screen. Then again, I may be dreaming that up entirely…

So, this is my take on Empress Misaha. I hope you like her. I liked writing her. Since Altina has purple hair in the one picture she shows up in and so does Sanaki, I figured it's a family trait and so gave it to Misaha. I also figured shortness ran in the family.

Once again, I have messed with the dialogue. The memory conversation between Sephiran and Misaha was the most implausible of them all to me (Sephiran is essentially passive in that conversation and he would not be like that in this fic), so I have done my own thing. I think it works better, too. Take that, Intelligent Systems. *thumbs nose to script writers who can't bother to make things consistent*

I theorize that the Apostles/Empresses remembered their true heritage when no one else in Begnion did, making them and a few dragons the only ones (other than Sephiran himself, natch) to know what actually happened with Sephora, the first Branded. This has obviously bothered them for some time, and led to some Fridge Horror: if they live longer than other people, how do they conceal this from the populace? I can only imagine that various Empresses have had to commit suicide before now to keep their secret from being discovered, unless they could blame their delayed maturity and longevity on their Apostleship. Come to think of it, that might explain why Sanaki and Lekain talk about the excuse of her not 'being of age' for her inability to hear the voice of the Goddess - since she ages more slowly, she really wouldn't have been old enough anyway! (And before you say, "Micaiah was the Branded one, not Sanaki," I shall reply that I think there'd still be _some_ effects for the non-Branded children.)

I also totally made up the part about the Empresses being able to hide their own Brands. I figured that they have enough magic that they should have been able to figure _something_ out long ago. However, to ensure that this does not go for all Branded, it is something they must learn to do when they are older and have sufficient magic, thus knocking out all non-mages and Micaiah, who would never have been taught how or that she could even do such a thing.

Yes, Minaki is Micaiah. I decided that the sisters should have similar names, and I didn't think that, in a world where apparently no one shares the same name, she would have been running around with the name of the lost princess of Begnion and not get eventually recognized.

Bringing up Micaiah (whom I shall confess not to liking much in the game – dunno, her face just annoyed me – but who is sufficiently adorable as an infant) leads me to a gripe with Intelligent Systems: they completely made up Micaiah on the spot for RD and did not mesh it well with PoR. I mean, if Micaiah was supposed to have died with her grandmother (some explanation as to _how_ she didn't die would have been nice, too, IS! *shakes fist*), she should have been mentioned before now. I mean, they could have at least said something about Sanaki's dead older sister. But no. Of course not.

Since there is nowhere a mention of an Emperor of Begnion/a male Apostle after Sephiran, I have concluded that only daughters of Altina's line received the Brand and could hear the voice of the Goddess. Since no daughter of Misaha is ever mentioned, I assumed she had none. However, no information is ever provided about the generation between Misaha and Minaki/Micaiah and Sanaki, so I have made up characters for the Apostle's family.

Thus, the introduction of Ernst, Misaha's husband; Kirsch, her son (Kirsch is Sanaki's middle name, so I figured it had to come from _somewhere_ – her name in full is Sanaki Kirsch Altina); and Lekola, her daughter-in-law (well, Minaki's hair had to come from _somewhere_ – and why is silver hair such a big deal when people have blue hair, green hair, and pink cotton-candy hair, anyway?). Since Kirsch will never have a role in the governing of Begnion – he is practically viewed only as the father of the next Apostle – he is left to his own devices. So he and his wife play around with magic. Yes, I theorize that Kirsch bound the tome Cymbeline for his daughter.

What happened to Kirsch and Lekola in the original timeline? Dunno. Obviously, something happened, because they didn't have another child for at least ten years (13 in my fic). There's something fishy with that… another instance of Intelligent Systems not thinking things through.

I think that Kirsch and Lekola _knew_ something about the attack that killed Misaha and so they were keep in hiding by the Senate – ostensibly to protect them, but really to keep them from talking. I would assume that by the time Sanaki is five in the original timeline they are dead, since Sephiran is the only one who can calm her. The fact that she _does_ cry all the time seems to indicate her parents are gone. You may now speculate in horror how Lekain managed _that_ one. It's a shame the topic was not brought up in the Tower of Guidance when you face him.

I do not have much to say about Ernst, so if any readers want to send me their theories, that would be wonderful. Personally, I picture him as a sort of stolid, big, brown-haired guy, probably of the general or paladin class, who knows that he is outclassed in a family of super mages and so he just goes with the flow. Son wants to experiment with foreign magic again? That's great, son, just don't blow yourself up. Daughter-in-law wants to fuse two types of magic together? Well, she obviously knows more about it that he does.

Ernst does really care about Misaha, though, and the feeling is mutual. I don't know if their marriage was arranged or what (Kirsch probably had a little more leeway since he wasn't himself an Apostle – or he may have had _less_ leeway, what do you think?) but they have grown to love and respect each other.

As for Lekola, I assume that she knows about the secret of the Apostles' Branded nature. I think any time an Apostle has only sons the daughter-in-laws would have to be in on the secret, since they're going to give birth to a child who may or may not have the Branded mark from birth. I assume such daughter-in-laws are chosen with care for their trustworthiness (and likely good magic ability) and are sworn to secrecy on the matter – likely some sort of magical oath that will blow up in their faces if they violate it. Men, I assume, are not present at the birth and are not as involved in the raising of the child, so sons-in-law of the Apostles may or may not know they have Branded children. I think Kirsch knows exactly what he is, though.

Anyway, Lekola is a smart woman and would have figured it out anyway about Minaki's Brand if she hadn't been told. She understands magic and sigils; she would know Minaki's mark isn't a mark of Spirit Protection but is the sign of laguz blood. So she knows exactly what Misaha means when the Empress taps the back of her hand. That doesn't mean Lekola knows exactly how to deal with a millennia-old ex-heron in her nursery…

I do like to think that Lekola takes some part in raising her children, even if likely she is assisted by nurses and maids. Hence, she is trying to get Minaki to go to sleep. Bonus points if you noticed the fact that Minaki calms down once Sephiran holds her, just like Sanaki stopped crying when she met Sephiran.

I made up a Holy Guard to accompany Misaha, and I wanted her to be Sigrun's mother (it just seemed likely to me that Sigrun had lived all her life in Mainal taking care of the Apostle) and I wanted to give her a Norse name to match her daughter's. Somehow Brynhilde emerged. Go figure. I also decided that Sigrun has two older brothers – Wager and Woden (I think I'm funny) – who have already left, found trades in Sienne, and started families. Sigrun was the baby of the family.

Brynhilde was a lot of fun to write, because I imagined her as having grown up with Misaha (partially) and being her best friend and confidante. I thought it hilarious that she would prowl around and keep the staff on her toes. It just seemed like something she would do. I also found it amusing that Kirsch is more scared of Brynhilde than his own mother. Dunno, it just seemed appropriate.

If I have failed at explaining anything or have forgotten something, just let me know and I'll add a line to the next chapter's author's notes or something.

Of course, if we meet Misaha this chapter, we all know what happens in the next… :(

Werde Spinner, signing out.


	6. Flames of Chaos

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

* * *

**Flames of Chaos**

The senate was horrified when, without even consulting them or proposing a bill in their midst, the Empress of Begnion proclaimed the Laguz Emancipation Act, and empowered the Holy Guards and the detachment of the Begnion Imperial Army under their control to see that her new Act was carried out. The laguz were to be allowed to leave Begnion to Gallia, Phoenicix, Kilvas, or even Crimea if they so pleased, without any interference or harm from the Begnion populace.

Various senators tried their hardest to conceal laguz slaves, but Brynhilde and her stern warrior-women investigated them mercilessly in the days that followed. Trying to salvage something out of the wreck, the senators appealed to the people, attempting to turn them against the Apostle.

Their orations failed, however, as Misaha stood on the balcony of Mainal Cathedral, fearless and dignified, and announced that if she were to lead her country into the future she would not allow it to harbor any sort of cruelty and corruption. The people responded to her with cries of acclamation.

Sephiran kept out of sight, particularly avoiding the senators, and spent some time with Misaha's family. Having learned that Sephiran spoke to spirits all the time, Kirsch begged for his assistance in parsing out spells long-forgotten and in crafting new ones.

"We have a copy of every magical tome ever bound, I think," he boasted happily, "even if they are no longer functional."

"Some were, I think, brought from another world," said Lekola slowly.

"A possibility," Sephiran admitted. "In Goldoa there is such a portal, guarded by the last few ice dragons, who originated elsewhere."

"I was trying to merge ice and light magic," said Lekola. "I used the formulas for a Light spell and… what was it, again, Kirsch? Fimbulvetr? He found it and helped me write out the new spell. He was also kind enough to test it for me."

"The book exploded," Kirsch said, with a sheepish grin.

Lekola nodded. "We still have several kinks to work out before the spell is usable," she agreed.

If Sephiran was asked to babysit Minaki a time or two, he did not need much coaxing. It was pleasant to spend a few days in the company of a child once more, knowing that a brighter future was laid out before Tellius than he had dreamed was possible for years now. Brynhilde's daughter assisted him. Graceful and soft-spoken, with her mother's mint-green hair, Sigrun had no fears of Sephiran, whose presence she accepted without question. Soon she was telling him little stories about Kirsch's experiments and Minaki's adventures in learning to crawl and walk.

A little over two weeks since her Laguz Emancipation Act, Misaha spoke concerning her intention to reveal her Branded nature to the world.

"The senators will _surely_ attempt something against you, Misaha," her husband had warned her gravely.

"I can no longer live a lie," Misaha replied steadily. "There is no choice, Ernst. Not for me."

And so the Empress set a date, four days from then, upon which she would have a great announcement to make to the people of Begnion. The senators seethed when they heard this, fearing further damage to their reputations and incomes, but stopped making public speeches denouncing the Empress's actions.

* * *

Despite the years he had spent traveling Tellius, Sephiran still found himself slightly disoriented if he remained in a large city too long. The chaotic impulses and thoughts of so many people, even if he could no longer feel their full force, still knocked against the remnants of his heron nature. Additionally, he could dimly sense the foulness in the air, the almost tangible aura of ill-will hanging over Sienne, as Stefan had described.

He planned to leave the city, just for a day or so, to regain his equilibrium and to pray for the success of Misaha's endeavor. He would have liked to have gone to Serenes Forest, but he wished to return in time for Misaha's announcement. He had promised her he would not miss it.

Additionally, he was not quite sure how to explain to the herons that he had _not_ died seven hundred years ago. Explaining that Dheginsea had lied, even for a good cause, would not work wonders for the Dragon King's diplomatic reputation and the various peace conferences and treaty signings he had hosted in his netural state of Goldoa. What little peace Tellius had did not need to be shattered. Perhaps it was better, for the moment, if he left Serenes Forest for later.

That made him wonder: how _would _Dheginsea take it when the Empress of Begnion announced to the world that she was descended from a laguz as well as a beorc? Would the revelation of the secret he had hidden actually move him?

"You would understand, though, would you not, Yune?" he asked the unresponsive medallion. "You always loved new things, little curiosities, the simple fact of a new sunrise. You were the future. You were hope. I wish you could see this day."

Then Sephiran thought of Ashera, asleep in the pinnacle of the Tower of Guidance. In the deep sleep she had submitted to, could she hear the glad songs of her beloved children, singing Lehran's song to her each morning? Was she content that the laguz and beorc had not wiped each other out yet? Did she still grieve for the cruelties they inflicted upon each other? Was she aware of anything at all, or could she only feel the old, silent emptiness of her chamber?

_Rest well, Ashera_, he whispered in his heart.

* * *

The day before Misaha's announcement, Sephiran set out once more for Sienne. As he approached the capital, he frowned, disgusted anew by the chaos woven through the buildings and homes like a second, invisible layer. Had it truly been this strong? No wonder he had begun to feel disoriented.

Something had occurred. Townspeople were in small groups, whispering fearfully or weeping. Beyond the hushed voices of those passing on the news or the tearful laments of those who knew, there lay a deep, impenetrable silence. The silence was like a live thing, a terrible creature from the deeps of the sea or the fathomless reaches of space- an eldritch monster, motionless and malicious, silent with the calm that blanketed everything before the breaking of the storm.

Sephiran found himself looking over his shoulder, expecting any moment to see a darkness or chaos spirit creeping up on him. But he saw none, nor could he perceive the trail of one anywhere. This darkness… it belonged to something older, something colder than mere spirits.

"Yune…" Sephiran said before he could stop himself, dread creeping into his tone. His fingers seized her medallion, clutching it tightly. He had the horrible feeling that, somewhere, somehow, _someone_ or _something_ wanted to take her from him.

Wandering the stricken streets, he finally came to a group of people who did not cry out and run away at his approach, as if burdened by guilty consciences. A man was passing on some terrible news. A couple of women were sobbing.

"It cannot be true," they were saying. "I saw her on the feast day, not three weeks ago. This cannot be true."

"I cannot believe it myself," said the man, holding his hat over his heart. "But the senators made the announcement, so it must be true."

The senators? Anything they said was likely to be a lie. Frowning slightly, Sephiran edged closer. "Pardon me?" he asked. "What has happened?"

Startled, the man turned to him and dipped his head in an awkward courtesy. "Oh, my lord sage…" he said, his voice breaking with grief. "The Apostle… She… she's dead."

Around Sephiran, the whirling world came to a frigid halt. Above, the glass of the cosmos shattered and broke. He could not have heard the man right. This was an impossibility.

"She was not even old yet," sniffed one of the women. "She just had her beautiful little granddaughter two years ago, and the poor, poor thing…"

"Yes, that's right," the man agreed, reminded of his other piece of news. "It's not just the Apostle, more's the pity. Her granddaughter was killed too, and four of the knights of the Holy Guard died defending them."

Misaha… His daughter… Oh, goddess, he had lost his daughter all over again… No, this could not be true. This could _not_ be true…

The townspeople would not joke about something like this, would they?

Their grief was genuine. Sephiran could tell that much. They believed these deaths had taken place.

His daughter had died again… and Minaki, too…

Brynhilde… Brynhilde would have fought to the last to defend her sister, her empress, her best friend. And Sigrun… Sigrun might have been with little Minaki. She was not a Holy Guard, of course, but she had begun some of the training, and she had the heart of her mother. If she, too, had been caught in the crossfire…

Kirsch and Lekola… what had befallen them? The man had not mentioned them, but perhaps the senators had not deemed their deaths important enough to relate to the people in wake of the other tragedies…

Sephiran had no voice for words. Leaving the townspeople behind, he sped towards Mainal Cathedral, the humming of wind spirits echoing in his ears, their worry compounding his own and building up to a crescendo of panic. Magic seemed to growl in his ears, like far-off thunder. A foul smell floated on the air, like the smoke of offerings sacrificed to demons. No one else seemed to notice it; was it something of the spirit world only Sephiran could sense?

Mainal was filled with the sobs of a grieving populace. People sat huddled on the pews, jumping at the slightest noise. Even the stained-glass windows and the beautiful mosaic of the goddess seemed dimmed, their colors muted into the grays of sorrow.

In the sanctuary a small squad of red-armored Begnion troops stood at attention, apparently guarding a handful of people. Lekola's silver-white hair stood out like a tiny star.

Sephiran rushed towards them. Everything seemed to blur around him. How much time had passed since he had heard the news? His heart had not ceased its frantic race since.

The soldiers crossed their spears in front of him, responding immediately to guard their charges. However, Sigrun slipped out from between them, crying, "Sephiran!" and burying her face in his robes.

The captain of the soldiers looked uncertainly to his charges. He had been ordered to let none pass, but surely friends of the family could be allowed access in view of the tragedy? "Is he known to you, my lord?" he asked.

"Yes… yes, he is," said Kirsch, pushing forward. "You can let him through. Please… let him through."

The soldiers parted. Sigrun still clinging to him, Sephiran edged through them to find Kirsch and Lekola. Lekola was leaning on her husband, eyes red from weeping. His purple hair in complete disarray from the countless times he had distractedly run his hands through it, Kirsch looked defeated, at a complete loss. So much had happened in so little time that the scholar who preferred the company of his magic books did not know at all what he should do or say.

"You… you heard?" he asked numbly. His face was pale and haggard, like a sleepwalker's.

"…Is it true?" returned Sephiran, afraid of the answer.

Kirsch could only nod.

Sigrun burst into fresh tears. "I had just been with her!" she cried. "Sarah and I were feeding Minaki her breakfast and I had… She always makes such a mess, and I had just… just stepped out to get her some clean clothes… and… _it_ happened, and I…"

Sephiran did not want to press her for details. The girl was distraught enough as it was. He wrapped one arm around her and stroked her hair, not knowing what to say. She seemed to blame herself for not doing more, but what could one girl have done?

"It is not your fault, Sigrun," Sephiran tried reassuring her quietly. "It is not your fault…"

"He's right, Sigrun," said Kirsch, his compassion not killed by his grief. One arm still wrapped around his wife, he reached forward to pat Sigrun on the shoulder.

Sigrun must have been swept up with Kirsch and Lekola when the survivors were put here under guard in Mainal Cathedral, Sephiran reasoned. No one must have had the heart to separate her from them after her mother's death.

"Where are the Holy Guards?" asked Sephiran suddenly. He could not yet bring himself to ask about the how and why of his daughter's death, but some part of his mind was still running, still clicking away distractedly at a thousand miles a minute, scanning the circumstances. Something was off.

"Guarding the bodies," said Kirsch, casting a careful eye about his surroundings. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke in broken bits of the ancient language. "Body," he amended. "Mother… my mother… dead is." His voice shook, making his broken sentences even more indecipherable. "I found her, before they… they took us out. But Minaki… We found not Minaki or Sarah."

"Fled or captured?" queried Sephiran.

Used to the vocabulary of magic texts, not less arcane conversations in the ancient language, Kirsch took a moment to identify the words. He shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. "Brynhilde is dead, and her… her…" He stumbled, searching for an equivalent word in the ancient language. "The women who are leaders under her," he finally said, apparently meaning 'subcommanders'. "They also dead… are. It was… very quick."

The captain of the soldiers surrounding them was watching suspiciously. "Hey, what are you two saying?" he asked.

"He's… he's been helping me research magic lately," said Kirsch, saying the first thing that came to mind. "It's a magic… thing… talent… ability."

The captain scowled, plainly feeling that further supernatural plots should not be discussed, but unsure if he should potentially antagonize the late Apostle's son and his fellow magic researcher or not. He was conscious of the fact that he had low magical resistance himself. He opted to say nothing.

"The Holy Guards… they were sent away," Kirsch continued, slow suspicion working its way through his own mind. "They could not stay with us. Father… my father also… taken somewhere was. He found my mother before I did. Maybe they to ask what he saw… they wish to ask him?"

Kirsch's features scrunched with confusion. Stunned by grief as he was, he still had enough sense to pull himself out of the stupor that had fallen upon Sienne to question what was going on. "Still… it is not right. Not right," he repeated emphatically. "The Holy Guard did not fail us. It was no… no normal attack."

Lekola had recovered enough to follow the thread of their conversation, and although her grasp of the ancient language was not as comprehensive as Kirsch, she could add, taking a deep breath, "It was magic. Foul magic."

"Like a Fenrir out of nowhere," Kirsch agreed, eyes dark with the reflected memories of what he had seen, "but darker… evil. I saw my mother's body. Magic did it."

Sephiran immediately thought of the senators. Who else would have the audacity, the power, the political reasons, the accessibility to attack Mainal Cathedral and target the beloved Apostle? Relations with other countries were not so strained as to offer any other possible candidates for this treacherous attack.

However, the senators had all been taught light magic; they were certified bishops and saints. He had seen Valtome pull out a Valaura tome, and Oliver possessed a Nosferatu - tainted light magic, that was true, but still light magic. They could not have cast such dark magic. They might have hired some dark magic practitioners, perhaps – paid off a summoner, a druid, or a dark sage to do their bidding. It still seemed off, though.

Moreover, Begnion disapproved of dark magic. Institutions that taught it were usually suppressed. The few dark sages or druids who still lingered in Begnion either practiced it illegally or practiced it under strict regulations, in the army or in research labs. Few to none of them would have had the training or the sheer power to blast through a heavily magically-fortified palace and kill a woman with high magical resistance herself in one shot. Not even most darkness spirits could have done that.

It would seem like the rebuke of the gods to most people.

Kirsch's thoughts were apparently running on the same lines. "Crater… crater in the wall," he murmured, staring into space as if he were watching the horror unfold again and again in his mind. "Out of nowhere… flames and darkness. And laughter, cruel laughter… Not of this world. Not of this world… Something… my mother, they hated her. They had to… to silence her…"

Sephiran felt as if he should offer his condolences, but there was nothing he could say. He felt the same pain himself, felt it even more deeply. Oh, Ashera, was there nothing he could not lose? He had been torn from his heron family by the loss of his powers, and then torn from his human family by Dheginsea. Now, that he had just found his long-lost daughter again in Misaha, she was torn away from him, too?

"I'm next," Kirsch commented vaguely.

"No, you will not be," said Sephiran, forsaking the ancient language. Sliding his bookbag off his shoulder, he pulled out an Ellight and handed it to Lekola. "You can use this, can you not?"

Taking it with shaking fingers, she nodded. Traumatized, terrified, having watched her mother-in-law and her daughter be blasted by a bolt from the netherworld, Lekola was understandably distraught. However, just as a soldier likes the feel of cold iron or hard steel in his hands when facing down the enemy, a mage likes the feel of a reliably heavy tome in her hands, brimming with magic.

Lekola stood a little straighter. An Ellight was not much protection against the forces of the underworld, or against whatever was marshaled against them, but it made her feel better.

"The senators spoke of making another official announcement outside the senate building," said Kirsch. "It will be soon now. We will be kept here, until they deem it safe to… to take us wherever. Please, will you go and see what it is?"

Sephiran needed no one to translate what that meant. "I'll go," he said.

"May the goddess watch over you," said Kirsch. Sigrun mumbled something similar, finally letting go of Sephiran, and the ex-heron found himself leaving Mainal Cathedral.

* * *

Half a dozen senators in their official robes stood in front of the senate building. A sad, silent crowd had gathered to hear what they had to say. Lekain, whom Sephiran remembered all too well from that incident in the library of Vitus monastery, had stepped to the forefront of his fellows and was speaking in a deep, solemn voice.

"…is true. With the heaviest of hearts, we confirm the rumor that the Apostle Misaha and her granddaughter, the princess Minaki, are dead, and that Lord Ernst of Kadohl has been severely wounded. The attack occurred this morning, around eight o'clock. Four valiant members of the Holy Guard fell defending them."

Loud sobs and cries arose from the assembled populace.

Lekain continued: "As soon as we heard the news, we rushed to Mainal Cathedral to protect the remaining members of the imperial family and investigate this appalling happenstance. Although our investigation is not fully complete, we can announce with a degree of surety that the attack was magical in nature - dark magic, to be precise, such as no human is capable of wielding. Only spirits or dark gods, or those capable of contacting and controlling them, would have been able to do this thing."

Imprecations against dark magic and various demons were shouted by the throng.

"There is not, of course, any large institution of dark magic in Begnion, for we cleansed our borders of such dens of iniquity long ago," said Lekain, righteous in the knowledge that in Begnion light magic ruled supreme. "Nor could we think of any humans who would bear such great malice against such a splendid and kind-hearted woman as the Apostle Misaha, so it with the heaviest of hearts that we must look beyond the corners of Begnion for the instigators of this terrible tragedy."

Various xenophobic comments were uttered. A few fists were thrust into the air.

"However, before we accuse any foreign nation of so horrible, so heinous a crime as the assassination of our beloved and gracious Apostle, we must consider that Begnion is at peace with all nations," said Lekain reasonably. "No great war is being waged upon the fields of Tellius. No nation bears ill will against us. No one could possibly have any motive to deprive our Apostle of her life, for she was the _Apostle_…"

Someone in the front of the crowd called out, "Not _all_ nations believed our Empress was the Apostle!"

"That is true," said Lekain slowly, as if reluctant to admit the fact. "The herons of Serenes Forest have long held out that the Empress of Begnion is not the true Apostle. However, the fact remains that…"

"I call that a motive!" a man yelled out. "See? A motive, right there!"

"Hardly strong enough to…" began Lekain.

"_They_ have enough magic to have done a thing like that!" called out someone else. "They live in an enchanted forest, don't they? They speak the language of the spirits. They could have called upon demons to rid the world of someone they viewed as an imposter Apostle!"

Sephiran's mind was awhirl. He leaned against a nearby wall, trying to gather his breath. The air seemed to be on fire with chaos. If he were still a full-blooded heron, unprotected by Ashunera's blessing, he would have passed out long ago. As it was, he could not think straight. Horror had hit him in the heart like a stake.

Was he hearing what he was hearing? Surely not. Yet, as the twisted logic spun through the air, sliding in an ear to corrupt one mind before passing on to the rest, he fought for breath. How could they… this was madness… Somewhere, in a den of the underworld, someone was laughing – he could hear it.

Kirsch was right. This was a day of demons…

"Even if they had a motive, my friends," said Lekain, appearing to reason with the crowd, "the fact remains that the herons are gentle cretures, incapable of harming a fly. They are unlike other sub-humans in that regard, and…"

"Yeah, but they're still sub-humans!" roared two or three in the crowd. "They're beasts! They must die!"

"No, we cannot rashly condone an act of war or other cruelty against what may be a perfectly innocent tribe," said Lekain. "We must conclude our investigation first. If Lord Ernst of Kadohl is able to shed any light on attack, if he recovers enough to speak to us before he dies, as seems likely…"

As if on cue, a senator emerged from the senate building and walked over to whisper in Lekain's ear. The leonine-faced senator bowed his head for a few moments. Drawing a deep breath, he addressed the crowd again.

"My friends, I grieve myself to add to your sorrow, but I have just received news that, as I feared, the injuries Lord Ernst sustained were too great to be reversed by our healers. However, before he died he was able to tell us a few things about the attack, namely, that demon birds seemed to come out of a portal or another dimension and attack them with foul magic."

"There's proof enough!" screeched a man in the front rows, holding up a heavy stick. "What are we waiting for?"

"Now, while it is true that we will do our utmost to locate the true murderers of our Apostle and her family members and see that justice is done, we cannot…" began Lekain again, but he could by now hardly be heard over the roar of the angered crowd. Men were grabbing sticks, stones, and various tools. Someone had lit a torch. Lekain raised his hands, appealing for calm, while his senators stood by, apparently intimidated by the mob.

Gathering steam in more and more frenzied members, the mob marched down the street, swelling to an army of screaming ants, pouring out of Sienne as out of their anthill, rushing to attack the one who had killed their queen.

_What…?_

Numb with shock, Sephiran found himself carried along by the crowd. Any attempt to fight his way back to Mainal Cathedral was useless; he could not fight his way through the flood of angry people. Any time he grabbed a member of the mob and tried to explain that this was senseless, that the Serenes herons would _never_ defile themselves with foul magic, the man or woman would only angrily throw off his hand and pick up a weapon or torch.

Tears running down his face, Sephiran gasped for breath. The chaos, the hatred, the anger of the people around him was doing more than disorienting him; he was dizzy as with a fever, scarcely able to put one foot in front of the other. Black specks swam before his eyes.

Was he still in Sienne, or had the mob carried him out into the countryside?

Cartloads of people with torches, pitchforks, rakes, and other makeshift implements of destruction were rattling by. Soldiers on horses appeared, but they did little more than encourage the mob.

_How can they…? All reason has been abandoned… They claim to worship Ashera, but they have given themselves over to chaos!_

_ Chaos…_

_ Oh, no, Yune!_

Sephiran held his medallion with both hands, falling by the side of the road where he would no longer be pushed and pulled along by the screaming, inhuman mob. Blue light glittered around the edges of the medallion. Yune could sense the angry chaos and her divine powers were reacting instinctively to it.

"No, Yune," he whispered urgently. "You can't! Go to sleep! Go back to sleep! I'm still with you… Calm down, Yune… You _must_ calm down…"

Desperately, he began the little tune he had used for so long, the galdr of sleep, but with his seid magic unresponsive it had little effect upon the medallion. The little blue lights only glimmered brighter.

Sephiran raised his head. Was it going dark? _Surely_ it could not be nightfall yet. No, the sun was just hidden by clouds, steel-gray clouds, hard and unforgiving. Men passed by as in a nightmare, their torches flickering wisps of angry red fire. Fire. They would burn Serenes Forest. They would burn his home.

_No… they can't…_

Sephiran managed to pull himself to his feet. He had to get to Serenes Forest ahead of the mob. He had to warn the herons, his children, his first family… He had to get there…

The wind spirits could not take him there. He asked them, but they could or would not. Even they were afraid. They were racing about erratically, their elemental tails whipping the clouds overhead into a frenzy and tossing the trees's branches as in the mightiest gale. Fire spirits had begun to congregate, their empyreal laughter echoing sinisterly as they anticipated the conflagration soon to be ignited. Thunder spirits danced impatiently in the sky. No light spirits were to be found; not an angel would hallow this scene of madness. Whatever infernal bowels of fire and sulfur awaited sinners after death, the demons had left that hell and had landed upon Serenes Forest this night.

_Yune, stay calm… Yune, stay with me… Go to sleep…_

Flashes of semi-lucidity alternated with blurs of sound, sight, and smell for Sephiran. He received glimpses of people's faces, twisted into masks of cruelty and hatred, glimpses of trees crackling and withering in the flames. Screams echoed around him from every side. Even if he stood still, the world rocked and whirled around him, the clouds spinning overhead. The beorc were no more than wraiths, haunting a dimension formed of nightmares.

Somehow, he found himself in the midst of the forest. Some of the beorc were sure to die today; they were setting everything fire without bothering to see if all of their own number had reached safety yet. They were hacking down everyone they encountered, laguz and beorc alike.

_Yune…!_

Sephiran glanced down. In front of his shoe lay a single white feather.

_Reyna, white wings glistening in the sunlight…_

Sephiran gave a wordless cry and let feet and old memories take over, guiding him to the heart of the forest and the altar he had last touched over seven hundred and fifty years ago.

As he ran, he thought he would leave the flames behind; Serenes was a vast forest, and the beorc could not have penetrated very far yet… However, even as he ran, the flames raced with him, licking forward like greedy tongues. Some foul magic had to be aiding them: they were eating dead, dry trees and green trees alike. Sparks hissed, spiraling upwards. Ash floated through the air, making him cough. The heat should have killed him long ago, he realized dimly. Once again, Ashunera's blessing prevented him from dying with his family…

Suddenly the forest altar stood before him, pale and untouched in the ruddy light. Here was the heart of his home. The altar had been placed on a site of powerful natural magic, on a convergence of ley lines, where the sum of the living energies of Serenes and the impersonal, deeper magics of the land itself concentrated. Any spell spoken above the altar would be magnified tenfold; any galdr sang here by a lone heron could work near-miracles.

_Be calm, Yune…!_

The herons… He had seen several fall as he ran through the forest. They were so fragile, his children, fragile and defenseless against the crazed beorc who cut them down laughing. He could not save them. He had not even been able to warn them…

There. At his feet. Another white feather.

Sephiran looked around wildly. The beorc had not come here yet. No bloodstains marred the forest floor. Perhaps a heron had tried taking refuge here, at the forest altar, hoping its sanctity would be a protection against the chaos engulfing Serenes?

On the other side of the altar, Sephiran found a lone heron. A girl, pale and unconscious, slumped against the altar's stone base, one of her white wings injured and bleeding. Her long golden hair was tangled with twigs and leaves; her delicate hands were scratched and bruised.

He did not know her name. At the moment, he hardly knew his own name. But in that moment she was his daughter and he would have done anything to protect her. She reminded him of Leah, his eldest daughter. Leah had had golden hair and white wings, just like her mother…

Once, Sephiran had been able to heal others with a touch, giving a portion of his own life's energies to the wounded or sick. That gift had left him, along with the ability to hear the goddess, and he had missed it every time he saw a child crying over a cut or a cripple who had been unable to pay the price demanded by a monastery for a use of a Heal staff.

He had tried learning the spell used to collect healing energy from the spirits and bind it in staffs, but he had been unable to master it. He had confused it too much with the words of the galdrar he had known. Desperately, he began reciting the words now anyway, bending over his fallen daughter.

Whether it worked or not, her eyes fluttered open, fixing on him with a confused, faraway look. Then she saw the medallion. It was a disc of silver and blue light now, Yune's distress pouring out into the visible spectrum as she sensed Sephiran's distress and the surrounding chaos.

The heron girl reached for the medallion, her fingertips just brushing it before her hand fell to the earth once more. The tiny blue lights reflected eerily in her large green eyes, like dying sparks.

"Keep Yune safe…" she pleaded, her voice barely audible with the crackling of the blazing trees and the roaring of the wind overhead. "Please, Great Father… keep Yune safe…"

Her eyes closed.

_No, no, not my daughter… not my daughter… why must I always lose my children…?_

She had recognized him. How? The medallion alone might not have been clue enough.

Sephiran stood, and the answer came to him. His balance knocked off, he clung to the altar for support. When he had he undone the magical bindings on his wings? He could not recall doing such a thing. Had his distress accidentally unraveled the binding?

Harsh yells greeted him. Beorc with sticks and torches had seen him, framed against the flames at the forest altar, and raced towards him now up the slope.

"There's another one!"

"Kill him!"

Sephiran would have welcomed death in that hour. His children were dying, and he had to watch, helpless. But the heron girl had asked him to keep Yune safe. He had to live, for Yune's sake.

He had to get away… Yune could not take much more of this chaos… If this continued, the seal might break and she would wake… She had always loved her herons…

The chaos was too much. If it was strong enough to affect a goddess protected by the seal on the medallion, it was strong enough to completely disorient an ex-heron. Sephiran tried to avoid the murderous beorc, but he could hardly see where he was going. Wherever he ran, flames greeted him. More beorc came running, more and more. Ants pouring out of an anthill…

"Kill him! They all must die, for our Apostle!"

They caught up with him. Roaring, a man struck him with a branch he had picked up. It hurt, but not as much as it should have. That blow should have crushed his ribcage. He was a fragile heron, too…

_Ashunera, why will you not let me die? Why…?_

"Ugh! Look at this! This one won't die!" The voice bounced all around him, taunting him out of the gloom that had swallowed his sight. "The rest go down in one hit, and this one… He just won't die…"

"It must be magic. Sorcery!" screamed a woman.

"Maybe he was the one responsible! Maybe he's the assassin!"  
"Hey, what's that glowing thing? Over there. See it?"

_Glowing thing… glowing… YUNE!_

Desperately trying to see in the world of black darkness and red flame, Sephiran ignored the pain and scrambled desperately, searching for any pinprick of paler blue light. He thought he caught a glimpse of it, but then someone kicked it, and the medallion skittered into the bushes.

"Destroy it! Destroy the sorcery!"

_Yune…!_

The bushes were set on fire. It was useless; fire would never harm his medallion. He had spelled it against fire long ago. Yune would feel no pain.

Even so, he lunged for it. Instead, they struck him again, and merciful oblivion swallowed him.

* * *

Serenes Forest burned for days. Though the clouds threatened, they never burst open with sweet rain to quench the flames and settle the ash floating over the countryside.

During that first infernal night, Sephiran woke again. Groggy with pain and the chaos suffusing the air, he hunted desperately for Yune's medallion, rummaging through piles of ash and still-burning twigs.

_Yune, where are you? _

In the midst of the confusion and destruction, he could not concentrate his weakened senses on her presence to locate her. He was left stumbling blindly in the dark, a lost old man attacked again and again by roving bands of murderous beorc.

As unconsciousness swallowed him for the second time, he thought he saw dragons descending upon the dying forest. Had Dheginsea seen the smoke and moved from his seat in Goldoa?

* * *

He awoke late the next day. Small fires still burned all about him. The air and earth were gray with ash; not a green thing remained. The wind whistled viciously through the husks of the trees and bushes, catching the flames and tossing them farther afield. No beorc could be seen at the moment, but their footprints were everywhere, defiling the sacred ground. Torn and bloodied feathers swirled past him, tumbling on the uncaring breeze.

_Yune…_

Once more, he searched for the medallion. Once more, he could not find his precious, divine charge.

_Yune, you cannot leave me! I cannot have failed you, not you, too… Not you… You, at least, were always with me… If I have lost you, too, what further purpose can my life serve?_

Exhausted with his injuries and his grief, he fell asleep under the gray trees in the gray twilight, looking less alive than some of the mutilated corpses strewn through the desecrated forest.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, only a few of the fires continued to burn. Ash lingered, fog-like, in the air. He thought he would never stop coughing.

The ground beneath him squelched like mud in a combination of blood, dust, and ash. Like giant skeletons looming out of the mists of time, the charred trees stood vigil over the open graves of the herons.

The forest altar… Perhaps he could find the forest altar again… He had been near it, when he last saw Yune's medallion.

His magic exhausted in an attempt to keep him alive, his body wracked with suffering, his mind stressed beyond belief, he had to pause and rest many times. He could barely find his way. Serenes was unrecognizable in its ruin.

He woke in the afternoon from a sleep he had not meant to take. It had been how long since he had last seen Yune- a day? A day and a half? Maybe more? He could not tell.

The wind spirits swirled more slowly around him now, murmuring their consolations on his loss. They saw the ruin of Serenes and mourned with him. The breezes curling off their elemental tails were cool and clean, pushing away the ash from his path.

A vague sense of other presences descended upon him. As he finally found again the hill where the forest altar still miraculously stood in one piece, he became certain of it. Sitting down with his back against its stone base, he gazed up at the sullen sky. Tiny winged shapes were flying to and fro. Hawks or ravens. They must have seen the smoke and rushed to the aid of their heron brethren.

It was too late. There was nothing, nothing they could save from the ruin of Serenes.

* * *

A few hours later, Sephiran woke once more. His magic was slowly returning, healing his body of the innumerable injuries inflicted upon him during that dreadful first night.

He had lost his bookbag somewhere along the way, though, had he not?

Levering himself into a sitting position, he glanced around. His mouth fell open. There was his bookbag, leaning against the altar.

_How on Tellius…_

The wind spirits curled around him sheepishly. They had been unable to do anything for him that night, when the strength of so many other spirits had overruled them, but they at least managed to find his bookbag and return it, more or less unharmed, to him.

Yune was still missing.

He had to decide what to do. Lingering here would do neither Yune nor the fallen herons any good. He had to find Yune.

Closing his eyes, he gathered his scattered faculties. He concentrated on his clearest memories of Yune's presence, reaching out as far as he could across Tellius for a single sign of her. He had to find her. He had promised she would not be lonely…

…There. Northwest. Retreating, going away from him to the ends of Tellius… Someone must have found her and run off with her.

_Yune… I'll find you. I made a promise to you…_

Lost in thought, he rested against the altar, conscious of many hawk and raven laguz combing the desolate Serenes for any traces of survivors. They were still far from the forest altar, but eventually they would reach it, and they would find him. It would be awkward.

He could not be bothered with them at the moment. He had much more important business. He had to find Yune, and the sooner he started, the sooner he might find her.

What would he do, though, when he found Yune? Could he simply slip the cord of her medallion over his head again, and carry on as if nothing had happened? Could he look at a beorc again and not think of the flames that had engulfed his home and burned the bodies of his children? Could he abide with his memories and the knowledge that the laguz and beorc would only continue to kill each other as long as they both lived?

They both deserved to die…

They were flawed, intrinsically flawed, the beorc and laguz both. Cats and beorc cut each other down all the time on the borders of Gallia, Crimea, Daein. Daein practiced sub-human purges with even more ruthlessness than Begnion. Begnion promised it would be clean, but, without Misaha to guide it, it would fall to hypocritical shambles. The herons, the only completely innocent race, had been brutally slaughtered, while the dragons stood by and did nothing. Dheginsea knew the price, and yet he would not move.

There was nothing left for Sephiran, only death…

_Awaken the goddesses. Awaken them. Let them judge._

Where had the thought come? Did it come from the chaos still blanketing Serenes, or did it originate in his own mind?

Sephiran looked around wildly. No demon, no spirit, no beorc or laguz stood there. His heart throbbing, he had to question his sanity. Did he still have it, after the hellish inferno he had lived through.

_Awaken the goddesses. Let them judge. Tellius is past redemption. Let it go. Let it fall, into the Void… No longer suffer the pain of living… _

No. No, he could not do it that way. Sephiran pressed his hands to his ears.

Ashera would be too easily persuaded. She would wipe out all life on Tellius, and then she would turn on Yune. Yune would be blamed for the roiling emotions and chaos of the extinguished lives, and then she herself would be annihilated. He would have caused, even if only indirectly, the destruction of the one he had promised to protect. Yune…

Sephiran could not do that. He could not force Yune to destroy her beloved beorc and laguz or to be destroyed on their account. He had to find her, but he would not seek to wake the goddesses.

The world could be destroyed by other means.

_Tellius is past redemption. You have seen this yourself. Let it go. Let everything go. Life is full of pain, so much pain. It is not worth living…_

And then Sephiran thought of Stefan, sitting on a dune in the great Grann Desert and watching the enormous clouds of smoke from the burning of Serenes drift across Begnion. What about the Branded, who were neither beorc nor laguz? They had suffered, too. Was it right that they should die for the sins of those who hated them?

Perhaps the world should be spared for the sake of those few innocent souls…

_Their lives are full of pain, too. Will you inflict that on them? Would it not be better for them to die, than to live so meaninglessly? Is not death a much better fate for them, than the hatred of all the nations?_

Sephiran squeezed his eyes shut. The words tugged at him, alluring with an awful fascination. Something dark growled within him, holding up the fact that Ashunera had made him her Apostle. He was the judge of Tellius, was he not? If he saw it was past redemption, she would only agree with him…

She would end their suffering. She would give her hurt children a final solution…

_NO!_

Sephiran's eyes flew open with shock. What had he almost done?

He could not do this. No. He could not. He was not the judge of Tellius. He had a responsibility, a duty, to every life of Tellius. But he had not given them their lives. He had no authority to take them away. He was not some omnipotent angel, able to see all ends.

He could not snuff out so many lives to spare them pain, when Ashunera had always said there came a moment of light to every creature…

No. He could not, would not do this. He owed it to Yune, to cold, silent Ashera, asleep in her Tower. He owed it to Misaha's memory, he owed it to his burned and slaughtered children, lying torn and bloodied through the desecrated forest. He would not insult their loss by destroying everything in their names. They would never have wanted that. He had to respect their wishes.

Oh, goddess… He had to see things as Ashunera had once seen them. No wonder it had finally grown too much for her, and the Great Flood had washed the lands with her grief. Sephiran understood all too well Yune's terror at what she had done, having walked too close to that dangerous brink himself now.

It did not make the pain of loss any less, however. Sephiran could hear the wing beats of the searching hawks and ravens approaching. One seemed faster than the others, like a frantic, racing heartbeat.

Moments later, Sephiran saw a young raven fly past, clad entirely in black, his blue hair a bright splash of color against the newly gray landscape. Occasionally he stopped to land, searching for signs of life, before leaping into the sky again. Once, he picked up a white feather, staring at it as if stricken. Then he was in the air once more, crying desperately for someone he must have known.

"Leanne! Leanne! Oh, Ashera… _Leeeeeeeannnnnee!"_

If he had reached this area, the other bird laguz could not be far behind. Slowly, with tired care, Sephiran renewed the magical binding on his wings and gathered up his bookbag. Asking the spirits to cover his traces and hide from the bird laguz, he left the wreck that had once been Serenes Forest.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This was a hard chapter to write. No, scratch that. This was an excruciating chapter to write. It hurt. It really did.

I don't know what to say about this chapter. I sort of speaks for itself. I came up with my own theories as far as the attack itself, as it nowhere says in either PoR or RD _how_, exactly, Misaha was killed. You'd think they'd explain that somewhere, but no. So I figured it would have to be something magical, since no one is going to look at the victim of a stabbing and think, "Oh, those peaceful white birds that live in an enchanted forest totally did this, with a beorc weapon, in the cathedral!"

To _really_ complete the picture, the senators should have used light magic, but then _they_ use light magic, and that might make people think. And they don't want people to think. They want them to succumb to the stupor and mindlessness they have woven over Sienne. They want them to agree with everything they say. They wanted the villains to look irredeemably evil. So dark magic it was.

Of course, Sephiran does not _know_ it was the senators. However, he and Kirsch and Lekola are smart people, and they have their suspicions. They suspect the senators, naturally. Who else has a motive? But few other people are going to listen to them on this. The stupor charm is going to make them believe the senators. (How else do you explain a populace attacking some pretty little birds who have never particpated in any sort of violence?) So Kirsch, Lekola, and Sephiran don't want to let others know what they suspect.

Still, they don't know what to suspect. The senators could have paid some dark magic users, of course, but, as Kirsch notes, it was not something a mortal could have done. It was like an attack from a dark god. (Oh, look, more ammunition for Dheginsea to do his little spiel.) And the senators could hardly have been summoning up dark gods and then going to work the next day, since evil rites and stuff like that leave their mark on you. You _reek_ of foul magic for days. Someone would notice.

So they have their suspicions, but they have no clue how to go about investigating. And you can be sure that the senators are (surprise, surprise!) smart enough to realize that Kirsch and Lekola suspect something, so they're going to try keeping their own men around them and keeping them quiet. Yes, the senators totally finished Lord Ernst off. Oh, they'll say he didn't respond to the treatments and that his wounds were worse than they originally thought – they'll blame it all on dark magic. But Kirsch saw his father. He knows he wasn't in danger of dying. He _knows_. And he knows he's next.

Fortunately for him, though, the senators still need him around, at least for a while. To them, he still has uses as the potential father of a baby Empress who they can use as their puppet. So Kirsch and Lekola won't be dying in the next chapter. I can promise you that. You probably need some good news after this chapter.

However, Sephiran can't investigate the attack too thoroughly, because he has other business: finding Yune.

You should have noticed that Sephiran decided _against_ destroying the world this time. That's the biggest change of this AU fic, and I have done my best to try to build a plausible situation where he would decide against doing so. If it doesn't seem realistic enough, flame me or something.

_Was_ something in the magical netherworld trying to convince Sephiran to put Tellius into self-destruct mode? Guess away, my lovelies.

Werde Spinner, signing out.


	7. Wandering Alone

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

* * *

Wandering Alone

Sephiran could not leave Begnion without attempting to say goodbye to Kirsch and Lekola. Kirsch had not mentioned that his father was gravely injured, yet Lekain had announced that he had died. Perhaps Kirsch had been too grief-stricken to mention it? Sephiran could hardly blame him.

He could not reach the imperial family, however. Replacements had been made in the Holy Guard. Apparently, some of their number had been removed and were being charged with negligence in guarding the Apostle. How pegasus knights could have been expected to protect Misaha against a bomb of dark magic beyond the abilities of mortal man escaped Sephiran.

As there were not currently enough Holy Guards to fulfill their duties, what with those who had died in the attack and those who were being investiaged, Begnion soldiers were guarding the imperial family. They refused to let even friends of the family see them, citing orders. They would not even take a message to Kirsch for him.

Just as he was about to leave Sienne, hopeless, Sigrun found him. She had glimpsed him trying to reason with the soldiers from a window. Her status was uncertain, neither Holy Guard nor servant, but Kirsch had apparently demanded that she stay with him and Lekola, not wanting her turned out on the street by the senator's men. Therefore, she had not been evicted and replaced with the other servants. Since she was not a member of the imperial family, however, the soldiers did not know if they should forbid her from leaving Mainal Cathedral, and ultimately decided to just look the other way whenever she slipped in or out.

Sigrun drew Sephiran into a nearby pastry shop. "The owner knows me," she said. "She's a kind lady." To keep up appearances, she bought two small iced cakes for a couple of pennies and gave one to Sephiran. In between nibbles, she explained quietly, "Kirsch and Lekola are practically under house arrest. They suspect something, but the senate is keeping them firmly in hand. They won't let them see anyone or go out of Mainal. Lekola is very distraught."

"Kirsch?" asked Sephiran

"…Is researching, as usual," said Sigrun. "It's his way of trying to cope. He's trying to learn what sort of magic the attack was. No luck so far, though. I'm afraid the senators will guess what he's up to and take his books away, and then he will have _nothing_ to distract him. He knows too much."

"Knows too much?"

"Lord Ernst wasn't badly wounded in the attack," whispered Sigrun, trying not to act secretive. "I saw him before they took him away, supposedly for treatment. He… he didn't return." Tears shone in her eyes. "He was always kind to me… more than I deserve."

"Child, it is not your fault," said Sephiran, putting an arm around her.

"I could have helped!" Sigrun insisted. "I know what Sarah did. She tried to take Minaki and escape, I know she did. She's careful and clever, and I think she could have done it." Sigrun's voice dropped as she continued. "I'm not supposed to know this, but Sarah… Sarah is really Lekola's younger half-sister. She has silver hair, too. Begnion noblemen…" Sigrun let her voice trail off, not wanting to complete the sentence. Sephiran understood perfectly.

"They were going to shut her up in a convent and make her be a cleric - she's had some training - but Lekola is fond of her, and brought her with her when she got married. Sarah's never been able to be more than a servant, thanks to it all… her birth and everything… but she loves Minaki. She would have done anything to protect her." Sigrun nodded emphatically. "They never found either of them, you know," she confided, still in a low voice. "No one knows but us four- you, me, Kirsch, and Lekola. I think. So either… they got away… or… or when they were attacked… the magic didn't leave anything. And it didn't do that to Misaha, so…" Sigrun blinked, trying not to cry. "I prefer to believe they got away. I like that idea better."

"So do I," said Sephiran. "So do I."

"What are you going to do now, Master Sephiran?" asked Sigrun.

Sephiran let out a long breath. "There is something I must find," he said at last, "and I am beginning to wonder if losing it and… and the attack are somehow connected. Let Kirsch research, as much as he can, and I will keep my eyes open in the outside world. Sooner or later we will _have_ to find something."

Sigrun nodded. "Well, if you do find something, let us know. Try to find me or get a message to me; I'll bring it to Kirsch and Lekola. Good luck finding… whatever it is you're looking for."

Sephiran smiled sadly. "Thank you, my child. May Ashera watch over you."

"And over you. Good-bye, Master Sephiran."

* * *

Sephiran followed the trace of Yune northeast to Daein. The people there were much the same as they were in Begnion, although their hatred of the laguz came in a subtly different flavor. Instead of enslaving the laguz, they just killed them.

Dark magic and dark spirits were more overt in Daein than in Begnion, but Sephiran had not found so far any sign of the suffocating, eldritch darkness that had fallen upon Begnion the night of the Serenes Massacre.

Instead, all he had found was that the magics of Daein were harsher, less civilized, and that all the dark spirits who had been exorcized out of Begnion had come here seeking refuge. It was all very reasonable.

Still, where was Yune? His senses muddled, he could do no more than wander blindly from town to town, searching for her.

Without the abilities of his heron powers, he had to rely on cruder magical perception to locate her signature against the landscape. In the months since the Serenes Massacre, Sephiran had practiced his light magic until he felt confident now that, if he needed to, he could activate a Rexaura without exploding the book.

Taking Kirsch's research as his example, he had also looked into dark magic recently. It had become almost a hobby, identifying chaos spirits and learning their ways. The more he knew about it, the closer he would be to learning what had killed Misaha and then turned the people of Begnion upon the herons.

Of course, with some types of magic the only way to truly learn how they worked was to actually practice them, and dark magic, unfortunately, was of that ilk.

Since he was no longer technically a heron, Sephiran had long considered that the pledge his former race had taken to never use magic other than that contained in their galdrar did not apply to him. Now he had taken yet another step away from what he had once been in using, not just light magic- the magic of order-, but dark magic, the energies of chaos.

No doubt, Dheginsea would be quite appalled if he knew. The thought almost made Sephiran smile.

In fact, Sephiran knew quite a lot of things now that most herons should shudder to even think of. He had tried calculating how much chaos energy it would have taken to blast into Mainal Cathedral and kill Misaha. He had been surprised to learn that dark sages and druids before him had actually sat down to estimate these sorts of things and record their observations. There were lists of how much chaos energy the average theft released, how much a murder released, and so forth.

Seeing the figures had shocked Sephiran. This had been what had upset Ashunera and provoked her emotions into pouring forth in the Great Flood. It was terrible, seeing it laid out before him in numerical format.

Of course, the total release of negative energy each year, each day, each second by the beings of Tellius was generally counterbalanced by the production of positive energy caused by good works, by understanding and healing. The balance swayed back and forth with the ebb and flow of life, but it seemed recently to Sephiran to be deteriorating.

Sometimes he wondered how it had _ever_ maintined its shaky sort of balance.

He had learned a lot of other unpleasant things along the way, too- much more than he would ever want to know or had dreamed of. He had chanced across dark rites that altered minds and warped souls; he had read rituals for the summoning and binding of demons. It seemed at one time that dark magic users in Tellius had worshipped some dark god – most certainly _not_ Yune – and, although they had been suppressed and most of their books burned, some of their writings lingered on, fuel for future conflicts.

Sephiran never wanted to read those things again, but if it helped him learn what was slowly corrupting Tellius, it was worth it. He had gleaned this information from careful study in Begnion, hunting through libraries and eluding nosy bishops who had tried to dissuade him from poring through books of dark magic.

Using dark magic still left him with a fundamental feeling of _wrongness_, however. As a heron, he had been a creature of order. The Zunanma had been all about balance. They had lived under the beneficent protection of Ashunera, goddess of the dawn. Dawn was a time of balance, perfectly poised between the light of day and the darkness of night. In a similar manner, she herself had been poised between the light of order and the darkness of chaos. She had been whole and complete. It had grieved Sephiran so much to see his goddess split herself in two, fragmented shards of a single soul.

Nevertheless, it was hard for him to channel chaos energies. It was no doubt quite easy for human dark sages. Humans were creatures of chaos, just like the majority of the laguz. Violence came easily to them. Not so to the herons.

As the most spiritually sensitive of all races on Tellius, the herons were not weak in magic. They possessed their own seid magic, manifested in their galdrar. What fewer people knew, however, even among the laguz, was that the herons were not as weak and defenseless as most assumed they were. They could communicate with spirits. It was no big stretch for them to form an alliance with the spirits and channel their power. If they had wished, the herons could have hurled the equivalent of a Rexaura on the torch-wielding humans that had invaded their forest; standing at the forest altar, they could have obliterated the mob who had come to slay them.

Sephiran closed his eyes for a moment. The notes of the dirge of ruin, the most forbidden of all the galdrar the herons had sworn off, flashed through his mind. It had taken the herons only one disaster to learn precisely what dark depths their seid magic was capable of, long ago in the days of Tellius when Ashunera still smiled upon them and chaos had not engulfed the land. Since that moment, the herons had sworn off magic, and vowed to be creatures of peace and order alone.

And as creatures of peace and order they had remained, fulfilling their vow even if they paid for it with their lives. Eventually, their vow of non-violence had worked its way into their magic and their hearts. Now, for them to use magic so crudely went against their orderly principles. It would rip the delicate balance of their souls and warp them into something unrecognizable – neither laguz nor beorc, wraith-like, living on raw, black magic and haunting the spirit world forever, unable to die.

Occasionally, Sephiran lay awake at night, contemplating such a fate. More than once he had wondered if his path now led irrevocably in that direction. He could not die, after all – was he doomed to one day withdraw into the spirit world, his name numbered among those of the gods? He knew it had happened before. Legends spoke of other lands, where powerful dragons had at last ascended into the heavens as deities, worshipped by the frail humans they protected.

It had been so long, such a very long time since Sephiran had last heard anyone spoke of those gods, those dragon gods of other lands. He remembered discussing it with Ashunera. She had said it was very strange, for Tellius to have only one god – or goddess, rather - watching over it and guarding it. She had not sounded either annoyed or alarmed at the prospect, merely curious. Any concerns Sephiran might have had were brushed aside, and never thought of again until now.

Had a dark god from some other land decided to take advantage of Ashunera's disappearance, striking while she was weakened, separated into Ashera and Yune? As insane as it sounded, it was the most reasonable thing Sephiran had come up with yet.

He had turned again to researching dark magic and the ways of the forbidden dark gods with greater fervor.

It was highly ironic that he, Lehran, the eldest of herons, was now making and using magic tomes like a common human sage, and was now employing dark magic in his search for a being who had apparently been labeled a 'dark god' by history.

Then again, he had lived long before the herons took their vows. He might have sworn that vow, but it could not possibly apply to him now.

In some way, he truly was numbered among the inhabitants of the spirit world. He had little of a place left for him upon Tellius.

* * *

Standing on a hill overlooking this latest town, Sephiran shifted his bookbag. He had thought this town might offer a clue, an answer, anything about the darkness responsible for Misaha's death. It promised to have an arcane shope, run by a dark sage or alchemist, and he could ask them if they had ever experienced anything of the sort.

There did not seem to be any trace of Yune, however. There never was.

Otherwise, this town looked promising. A signpost he had passed a few minutes ago had indicated the town was called Osin. It was of moderate size; it apparently supported a small garrison of black-clad soldiers, if the patrol he had noticed standing guard at the gate said anything, and it had a few taller, wealthier-looking buildings clustered in what was probably the better part of town. An untidy sprawl of shabbier buildings surrounded them, though, and spilled past the palisade into the unprotected land around. It was late spring, almost half a year since the slaughter in Serenes at the beginning of winter, and a recent rain ensured the outlying fields still shimmered green in the late morning sun.

Nudged by an unseen player, Fate beckoned to him from Osin, although she gave no hint of what she had in store for him.

Sephiran roused himself out of his thoughts. "Well," he said to no one in particular, "the day is getting no younger."

Adjusting his bookbag, he resumed his unhurried walk towards Osin.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Sorry for the short chapter, but it's meant to be a breather before plunging into the second arc of the story. You may have noticed that this chapter picks up where the introduction left off - with Sephiran standing on a hill, observing a town. Yes, the long flashback arc telling us Sephiran's backstory is over. We've seen what he's been through, and now we're good to go.

Also, foreshadowing. I threw it in there. XD I welcome any and all theories you may like to throw at me (as well as flames - as stated, those will be used to make s'mores). The zanier, the better.

So, yes, Sarah the maid (who was mentioned briefly a couple of chapters ago) is Minaki's half-aunt. She tried to save Minaki. Whether that worked or not, we don't know. Kirsch and Lekola have their suspicions. The Senators know they have suspicions, but can't do anything to them just yet, as they would like for them to have another child who can be their puppet Empress. So Kirsch and Lekola are (relatively) safe for now. Sigrun is less safe, as she is perfectly disposable to the Senators. If they knew she had her suspicions... yikes. However, Sigrun is a clever girl and is well aware of the danger she is in.

I always thought that Sigrun's undying loyalty to Sanaki had a cause, and this is my attempt to show this cause. I wondered if she blamed herself in some way for the disappearance of the older sister, and then for the deaths of Kirsch and Lekola (as I believe happened in the original timeline, leading to Sanaki being the screaming five-year-old Sephiran found her as). This would have made her all the more determined to protect Sanaki. Imagine her grief and frustration when the Senators tried to pull the same thing on Sanaki that they had done on Misaha. Poor Sigrun. :(

For a bit of happier news, there will be characters you should recognize in the next chapter! :)

Werde Spinner, signing out.


	8. Spirit Beleaguered

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist. _

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own _Fire Emblem._ End of story.

* * *

Spirit Beleaguered

The guards at the entrance to the town of Osin did not take much interest in Sephiran. They were both sturdily built men in black armor, their dull faces almost entirely covered by their helmets. Each carried a round shield and a regulation iron lance, and both looked bored out of their minds.

Their boredom was barely alleviated by the arrival of a strange mage in a traveling cloak, a bookbag slung over his shoulders. They surveyed him listlessly.

"Another mage," said one, leaning on his spear.

"Yup," said the other.

"This one doesn't look as evil as the rest, though," continued the first, with what probably amounted to forensic levels of observation for him.

"Yup," said the other. Sephiran suspected that he was a man of few words.

"Doesn't look like much of a threat," the first said reluctantly. " 'Suppose he's on some magely errand or another. As long as he buys stuff here; that's good for business."

"Yup," said the other.

They hardly bothered to cross their spears in front of Sephiran when he halted before them at the gates. The second guard merely shuffled in front of him, giving him the mildly inquisitive look of a surprised cow, while the other, standing up straight finally, asked, "You're a mage, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Sephiran pleasantly. _What gave it away?_ he wondered, a bit sarcastically. _The robes, the bookbag?_

"You here on business?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I…"

"Very good, very good," said the first guard, waving him on, as the second guard shuffled out of the way. "As long as you buy stuff here, help our business, and all that good stuff. Carry on. Good morning."

"And a good morning to you, as well," said Sephiran, passing under the shadow of the gate. He had to stifle his amusement at the man's nonchalant honesty. Honestly, he was a bit surprised the soldier had not recommended specific shops to him. Perhaps the soldier could make out some sort of deal, and get paid to pass out flyers for different stores? It would work better in a larger city than this, obviously, but Sephiran still had to try not to smirk at the thought.

Behind him, he heard the first guard resume his lazy position of leaning on his spear, while the second yawned hugely and shifted his weight.

"Do you think we should be more official about this gate-guarding?" asked the second guard, using something other than monosyllabic words for the first time.

"Nah," said the first. "As long as Zelgius doesn't catch us."

The other snorted.

_Zelgius_, Sephiran noted to himself. Presumably, that was their commanding officer. Equally presumably, he wouldn't be too happy when he caught his subordinates guarding the gate to their town in such a sloppy manner.

The rest of the citizenry of Osin seemed just as listless as the guards. They watched Sephiran cautiously, as if they had learned to be wary of all magic-users the hard way, but without real enthusiasm. Having noted the presence of many darkness spirits clustered over this town, Sephiran suspected more than the usual number of secret dark mages and sages, probably also a nice grouping of alchemists, druids, and possibly a summoner or necromancer. There was probably a small apothecary or alchemy shop located in a back corner of the town where they congregated. Sephiran would probably have to pay a visit.

He relaxed and let his instincts take over, allowing the whispers of spirit voices on the edge of his otherworldly senses to guide him forward. As he suspected, there was a cluster of dark energy several streets away that likely heralded an alchemy shop. At the very least, one or two proficient dark sages were lurking nearby. However, it was unlikely in response that they could detect his presence. He was careful to keep his magical signature dimmed down so that no one would ever guess he was anything more than a beorc sage.

More than just magic users seemed to not know what to make of Sephiran when they first saw him. If he had been wearing white, the common onlooker would have probably pegged him as a wandering bishop with no hesitation, an impression that his delicate frame and quiet presence did nothing to dispel. (On the other hand, Sephiran still was occasionally mistaken for a _cleric_, which was a bit more annoying. Others only made this mistake once, however.) However, he had chosen instead to go with darker clothes, dull purple and earthen hues of tan and brown. The cut of his garments made everyone assume he was some sort of magic user, but the lack of one thematic color- a regulation usually enforced by the various schools of magic across Tellius- ensured that they hesitated on addressing him, groped for a suitable title, and ended up calling him just, "Lord sage."

It rather amused Sephiran that so many felt compelled to call him, "my lord". He could not quite explain it, but it was convenient all the same.

At the very least, his silent communication with the spirit world around him did not distract him terribly from the physical realm. At one time it had. Dheginsea had scolded him for spending too much time listening to a talkative fire spirit instead of actually watching where he was going.

Ruefully, Sephiran had to admit that Dheginsea had been right. It was pretty embarrassing for a heron to collide with a slow-moving dragon - or, even worse, a wall.

However, living among humans who were less understanding had forced him to improve his multitasking skills. Now, at least, he could listen to what the elusive wind spirits tugging at the hem of his cloak were trying to tell him and also avoid a collision with an ox-drawn cart lumbering down the middle of the street.

He dodged neatly, his speed belying the thousands of years of life he had spent upon Tellius. The driver of the ox-cart, flicking his whip to urge his beast of burden onward, acknowledged him with an apologetic tip of the hat.

Apparently, Sephiran had missed market day in Osin. The town square lacked the usual hustle and bustle of women carrying baskets and herding their children along, the din of many voices haggling over prices and protesting the value of various goods, and the rumble of wheelbarrows and carts. Instead, only a few women drawing water stood chatting at the fountain, one twisting the end of her apron as she passed on to her friends a particularly juicy bit of gossip. A couple of children lay sprawled on the paving stones - rather a dangerous place, Sephiran thought-, shooting marbles with lazy proficiency. On the other side of the square, a couple of black-armored soldiers were marching by on patrol.

_A perfectly normal town, _Sephiran thought. _So why are the spirits becoming more urgent?_

It wasn't just the wind spirits by now. Oh, they were still there, whispering something he could not catch in his ears and gesturing with flicks of their elemental tails in one direction. There must be something in that direction they wanted him to see. Sephiran sighed. Usually the spirits did not bother him with trifling things, but there were always exceptions…

Well, he could spare a few minutes to mosey down this back street and see what it was that had set the wind spirits on edge. True, a few flickers of chaos had reached his magical senses in the last few minutes, but among so many people in a town like this they were _always_ doing something to generate chaos...

He rounded a corner to find a small mob of people gathered in the street. Their voices were raised in harsh cries, presumably of anger. A couple of men were scrambling around for stones to cast. A woman gathered up her child and fled into the safety of a nearby house, shrilling, "Get that horrible demon-spawn away from my baby!"

Any further effort on the wind spirits' part to ensure Sephiran's interest was unnecessary. Sephiran could hear for himself now the howl of a nearby dark spirit in pain and anger. But how on earth could a few villagers manage to capture and harm a darkness spirit? That took a high-level bishop or saint, and the goddess knew there would be precious few of those anywhere outside a monastery.

Shaking himself out of his surprise, he darted forward, trying to peer over the shoulders of the townsmen. It looked like they had cornered some sort of small creature. A laguz? It had to be a very young laguz, then, since they were all staring at a space not very high off the ground. But laguz could not capture or harm darkness spirits, either, not without light-grade magic...

"Demon-spawn!" some man was roaring, his face as red as a beet. "I heard him, Geil! He was laying a spell on me! He wanted to kill me, the monster!"

"Demon-spawn!" his acquaintance agreed loudly, hefting a rock over his head.

_No, not a laguz,_ Sephiran thought, almost dizzily, not caring who he shoved aside as he fought through the press to get a look at whatever the townspeople were on the verge of stoning to death. _I would know if it were a laguz, even with all this chaos energy they are releasing…_

The inaudible howl of the darkness spirit rose to a splitting shriek, the piercing warning cry before a darkness tail lashed chaotic energy across the unsuspecting villagers' faces. How could they not hear it? Even with their ears deaf to the noises of the spirit world, how could they not hear such a wail of agony and anger as that? Goddess above, but Sephiran thought the paving stones would spinter any moment now.

He slammed his elbow into the side of the man about to hurl a stone, wincing interiorly at the pain. At the very least, an action like that would no longer break his arm. Letting out a surprised, "Oof!" the man dropped his stone and fell back, doubled over.

Cries of, "Demon-spawn!" and "Kill it!" echoing around him from all sides, Sephiran stopped in shock at the sight of the target of all this malice.

In the center of the ring of hostile townspeople was crouched a little boy, no more than five, his tattered clothes soiled with mud and blood, his arms wrapped protectively over his head of curly blue hair. He was sobbing with terror. And, from within him, the howl of a darkness spirit was rising.

Violence done to innocents always shocked Sephiran. The very injustice of it, the horror of the evil such acts unleashed, the fetid force of the negative energy produced - it all struck him like a tsunami, drenching him with numbness and paralyzing him. It had happened so many times before. What had he done, on seeing his people hacked into pieces and burnt alive before his very eyes? He had been able to do nothing. He had stood at the forest altar, clutching Yune's medallion in a vain attempt to calm her, staring disbelievingly at the carnage unfolding around him. He had been too weak, too dizzy, too fragile and heron-like, to do _anything_.

Since then, he had promised himself to act on seeing injustice. He could no longer be a passive heron, if he were to find Yune and save Tellius from an awful fate if she were unleashed. He had defied Dheginsea to his face. He had survived, albeit unwillingly, the flames of Serenes. He would be able to stand this chaos now and act.

"_What_ do you think you are doing?" he cried, stooping down beside the battered boy and laying one hand on his trembling form. "Are you insane? Stop! Stop, everyone!"

The sudden lash of his voice and his sudden appearance in the midst of the angry group surprised the townspeople into momentary silence. Where had the mage come from? Did the demon-spawn have friends? Perhaps they should stone the mage, too. No, not a good idea. The townspeople shuffled back a tiny bit. Throwing stones at a mage ranked rather low on anyone's list of brilliant ideas. Who knew what sorts of devilries he could fling at them?

Not deigning to look up at the townspeople, Sephiran bent closer and tried to calm the near-berserk darkness spirit. Even after so many years, his mind sprang immediately to the soothing lyrics of the galdr of sleep he had murmured over Yune's medallion so many times. The seid magic no longer rose within him to accompany the words, but the melody could still cause even the most restless spirit to pause. It would recognize the tune and the intent behind it, and know he had, at least at one time, been a member of the heron tribe.

As the soft syllables drifted through the air, lingering like a fine haze after a rainfall, the not-quite galdr had the effect of dimming the murderous rage of the townspeople, as well. Even deprived of its magic, the tune remained soothing and gentle, reminding them of their kinder instincts. It chased away some of their blind anger, giving them a moment in which to see, to really see what they had been on the verge of committing.

Lulled into momentary complacence by the tune, the dark spirit residing in the beleaguered boy paused a moment. To Sephiran's magical senses, it appeared like a dark, vaguely human image superimposed upon the blue, black, and silver blur that was the little boy's magical presence. They occupied the same space in the spirit realm, their presences threaded together in a way that could mean only one thing. Spirit Protection. It had been a while since Sephiran had run across any magician with a Spirict Pact; such individuals in Begnion were either executed or locked away in the lowest dungeons of monasteries as unspeakably perverted and dangerous heretics.

Its mental faculties re-collecting, the dark spirit turned its attention to the one who had sprang to its host's defense. After an instant's confusion, it rumbled inaudibly in the ancient language: _Ah… I have heard of you. The dispossessed heron._

_Yes,_ Sephiran said distractedly. _But that is of no matter. You must calm yourself! I know you wish to protect your host, but if you strike out at them now, they shall _certainly_ kill your host! You must calm yourself._

_They would kill him for nothing. If he dies, I may never recover_, the spirit stated in a threatening growl, its invisible life aura pulsating between black and purple as it venomously watched the hostile onlookers.

_I'll try to stop them_, Sephiran promised. He was very glad that, as the goddess's favorite, he did not need to speak aloud to the spirits. Some magic users could only make contact with the spirit world by speaking aloud in the ancient language.

Only then did Sephiran look up to see the townspeople watching him with bewildered frustration and anger. A few still held stones in their hands, and one fat man was frozen in the act of brandishing a large stick. A woman, her free hand on the shoulder of a round-eyed little girl, wielded a black frying pan.

_Always frying pans, _Sephiran thought idly.

"Here! What do you think you're doing?" growled a man.

"It's demon-spawn!" shrieked the woman with the frying pan. "It deserves to die! It's not even human."

"It was laying a curse on me!" agreed the man with the beet-red face and impressive sideburns. "I heard the little wretch, mumbling under its breath at me. Not human, I say! We have got to kill it to protect ourselves!"

"Demon-spawn! It's probably a child of some sub-human. We had better go look for its parents and kill them, too!" agreed the man with the large stick.

"This child is perfectly human," said Sephiran with outward calm. Inwardly, the flames of Serenes were crackling through his mind, filling him for one heart-stopping moment with the sum of all the fear, despair and helpless, helpless horror he had felt that night. He swallowed those emotions down. Replacing them came a very un-heron-like anger. How _dare_ these people think they could deal out judgment in the goddess's name? How _dare_ they think they were better than laguz, when beorc and laguz were once the same?

"No, it's one of _them_," said the frying pan woman, lifting her improvised weapon. "I saw the mark on its forehead. It's just like all the rest of the sub-humans. It wants to curse us all to death and darkness."

One good thing about the ignorance of commoners was that one could do practically anything the least bit mysterious and explain it away to them as 'magic', and they would believe it. The downside of that was that they were then inclined to think of anything the least bit mysterious as magic, and try to kill it.

"He is not a sub-human, I assure you," said Sephiran, rather icily. He turned back to the boy. "Now, I promise, I shall not hurt you, child. Let me see your mark."

The blue-haired boy only curled further into a ball, too terrorized to even whimper.

"See? The wretch knows its own guilt!" grunted the red-faced man with sideburns. "Kill it, I say. Magic should do the trick. Give it another go, mister sage."

"Hold! Hold!" cried the welcome voice of law and authority, as embodied in one of the soldiers on patrol Sephiran had spotted earlier. Using their round shields to forge a path through the impromptu mob, two soldier-class guards made their way to the center of the townspeople. A third soldier, presumably of the knight-class, stood in front of them, using his impressive height and intense gaze to stare the mob into submission. He spoke again, saying, "Are we brawling in the streets now?"

"No, Lieutenant!" cried the woman with the frying pan. Lifting her free hand from her daughter's shoulder, she pointed accusingly at the blue-haired boy who had inadvertently started the whole commotion. "It's one of _them_. It's one of them Branded. I saw the mark! The little monster was trying to curse Rav here. Take it away and kill it like the dog it is!"

The lieutenant did not seem very impressed. "Yes, because four-year-olds know enough curses to kill grown men," he said. Turning to Sephiran, he said, "I suppose you intervened, master sage?"

"Yes," said Sephiran. Still trying to coax the child into showing his face, he said quietly, "I know you're human, child. I promise, I will not hurt you. Come here."

The boy took his hands from his face long enough to shoot Sephiran a wary glance. Expecting deceit, he saw only gentle sincerity. "_They'll_ hurt me," he mumbled, slightly emboldened.

The lieutenant tapped the butt of his spear emphatically on the dirt. The meaning was clear: _Not as long as I'm here_. A few more townspeple subtly backed away from him and his two men.

"Let me see your mark, so I can show them," Sephiran urged quietly. "I know what you are. You have nothing to fear from me."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy uncurled from his fetal position and paused for a long moment on his hands and knees, ready to flee between the townspeople's legs at the first sudden movement. The woman with the frying pan almost made a motion to toss it at the perceived threat to her daughter, but a frigid glare from the lieutenant halted her instantly. Swallowing, she backed up a pace, edging her daughter backwards as well.

"Come here, child," Sephiran told the boy.

Deciding he had found a sanctuary, the blue-haired lad flung himself on the dispossessed laguz, clinging to his only friend in the world. Taken by surprise, Sephiran let out a choked gasp before gently shifting the boy to a more manageable position.

"It's all right, it's all right… let me see your mark," he said soothingly. "I know what it is. Let me prove it to them."

The boy mumbled something, but made no motion to run away. Sephiran ran his fingers through the boy's thick blue hair, exposing his forehead. There, revealed for all to see, was a small, curious mark almost like a red, raw scar - one line twisted almost like a lightning bolt, the other slicing through it at right angles. It formed a rune such as magic tomes were written in, a sigil of power in the ancient language that Sephiran, at least, could decipher easily.

"That," said Sephiran to the confused crowd, "is not a mark of 'sub-human blood', as you claim it is. That is a mark of Spirit Protection. This boy has merely made a pact with a spirit. He is perfectly human, albeit very magical."

Some of the townspeople shuffled their feet, looking ashamed and vaguely apologetic. Others remained more hostile. A few looked confused and a bit scared - magic was out of their ken. One old geezer, jutting out his chin belligerently, demanded, "How would you know, young man?"

Sephiran sighed internally. Why did people never fail to call him young? After several millennia of it, it got quite old. Still, an explanation as to why _that_ was so was worthless and indeed quite unadvisable.

Instead of responding immediately, he slipped his bookbag off his shoulders with one hand and rummaged around in it. His fingers halting on a tome with the proper magic energy, he whipped out a dark tome. The dark illustrations of Worm engraved on the cover flickered slightly in response to the proximity of the dark spirit inside the boy.

"I am a magic user, myself," said Sephiran. "I think I would know another magic user when I saw one. Take it from me, this boy is a Spirit Charmer. I would suspect he is a strong one, too, particularly since he is only four or five."

"I'm four and a half," the boy mumbled.

Several of the townspeople looked positively alarmed to learn that they had been attacking a Spirit Charmer. Oh, so that was what the sage had meant? It certainly didn't sound good. They edged away cautiously. In the background, the fat man dropped his stick with a sudden _thud_.

"He's lying!" shrieked the frying pan woman. "The sage is deceiving us all! The boy is really a demon in disguise!"

Sephiran sighed. "It is not very hard to prove," he said. "Here, child. Lay your hand on the book." He added to the dark spirit inside the boy, _If you go so far as to actually _activate _the tome, I will pull out a Shine on you so fast your head will spin._

The spirit sounded disgruntled. _It is my duty to avenge my host's treatment._

_No. Not now._

_You would not risk damage to my host_.

_Do not test me. Believe me, I know ways of laying a Shine on _you_ and leaving the boy untouched_, said Sephiran with an eerie calmness. Deciding not to pick a fight with the ex-heron, the darkness spirit barely reacted as his host, trust shining in his eyes, slowly reached forward his hand and laid it on the binding of the Worm tome. The dark emblems on the cover practically blazed, red and purple light blossoming into the visible spectrum.

"A _dark_ Spirit Charmer? I'm outta here," said a man in the crowd, promptly taking to his heels. Several others followed his example. Others began to insist that they had not really believed the boy was demon-spawned, and pleaded for mercy.

The lieutenant eyed them severely. "You ought to be very grateful that the sage was here to prevent you from murdering a child," he told them. "It would not have gone over well for you had I found you over his dead body. Sub-humans are one thing, but suspecting a small orphan of cursing somebody without even a tome… It is deplorable. Now, clear out, all of you. Disperse. I hope you exercise some common sense next time."

There were murmurs of, "Yes, Lieutenant," and, "Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir." The townspeople drifted away with varying speed. The two soldiers with the lieutenant encouraged the stragglers to get a move on with gestures of their iron lances.

The woman with the frying pan lingered a few moments, obviously contemplating some nasty parting remark. Sephiran glanced up at her. Herons were supposed to be the least threatening of all races, but what she saw in Sephiran's eyes in that moment was enough for her to snatch up her child and stalk off rather quickly down the dirty street.

Rav, the man who had begun the commotion with his accusations of curses, tried to explain to the lieutenant. "I swear, Lieutenant, I didn't notice he didn't have a tome. I just heard something that sounded a lot like magical mumbo-jumbo - begging your pardon, my lord sage. But it seemed to me like…"

The lieutenant snorted. "Even if you did not notice he was not carrying a tome, could it have escaped your notice that the boy is _four years old_? The last I knew, we were not handing out magical artifacts of great destruction to toddlers."

"I dunno, sir, begging your pardon and all," said Rav, "but with times being as they are and all… some mages are startin' early. Rort down the street - his grandson is just eight, and apprenticed to a thunder sage in Tarsus the other week. And then there's Crazy Old Greca."

"What about him?" inquired the lieutenant, his tone expressing boredom. Sephiran had the feeling that Crazy Old Greca, whoever he was, was a common fixture about Osin, presumably mocked and tolerated in equal shares by the populace.

Rav scratched his rough beard. "Well, he's returned to town, you know, and lo and behold he brought an apprentice with him. Scrawny little thing. Looked like he should have been drowned as the runt of the litter, you know."

Sephiran raised an eyebrow.

The expression was not lost on the townsman. He blanched and hurriedly tried to backpedal: "Begging your pardon and all, my lord sage. I didn't mean that. Apparently, though, ol' Greca bought the kid off some old lady. Said he was a Spirit Charmer. And the runt couldn't have been any older than this one here. So I thought there was a good chance, Lieutenant, sir, that if that other one knew magic that this one knew some dark magic curses and all that as well. And curses seem like a sub-human thing as much as anything else. I mean, they turn into beasts and such, so they have to have access to some sort of sorcery."

"Sub-human sorcery aside, this boy would only know systematic dark magic if he had a decent instructor," said the lieutenant, his tone wavering between boredom and impatience. "Spirit Protection affords a lot of raw talent, but not the skill gleaned from practice and instruction. If he tried anything without lessons..." The lieutenant suddenly trailed off, not wanting to ennumerate the potentially nasty and fatal consequences in front of the boy himself. "You have nothing to fear from this boy. Leave him in peace, and go about your business. However, if I find this boy being harassed again…"

Rav gulped. "There won't be another time, sir!"

"You did not let me finish. What I was about to say is that next time I may leave you to the fate you deserve," said the lieutenant coldly.

Rav turned as white as a sheet. "W-what do you mean, sir?"

"Spirit Charmers host spirits in their bodies," said the lieutenant. "Those spirits do not take kindly to their hosts being harmed. You are very lucky the sage intervened when he did. I would imagine the spirit inside the boy here was on the verge of attacking you all in order to protect its host."

That was officially too much for Rav. He gave voice to a muted yelp and scurried away down the street. The two soldiers standing on either side of the lieutenant emitted nervous laughs.

Still holding the young Spirit Charmer, Sephiran glanced at the lieutenant curiously. "How do you know so much about the workings of magic?"

The lieutenant tapped his spear butt on the hardened earth again. His helmet covered most of his face, but Sephiran caught the flash of green eyes as he responded, "My sister is a bishop at Palmeni Temple. She tells me things occasionally."

Sephiran nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, thank you for intervening when you did. Your presence certainly assisted me in convincing the townspeople the boy posed no threat to them."

"If there is a way to save an innocent life, that is the way I will take. And I suppose I should thank you, lord sage, for taking the risk of intervening in the first place," responded the lieutenant. "If you had not been there, I might not have arrived until too late."

In the small pause that followed, the boy made himself heard again. Tracing his finger in random circles on the cover of the Worm tome, he asked his savior, "A-Are you a dark sage, sir?"

"Not quite, but I do practice some dark magic," answered Sephiran.

"Could you teach me?" begged the boy. "Please?" When Sephiran did not answer immediately his face fell and he mumbled, "I… I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to bother you… it's just…"

"Child, you couldn't possibly bother me," said Sephiran. "It is just that you need a proper instructor. Dark magic is not my specialty. It is more of a… hobby, let us say, and my methods are quite unorthodox. You need a teacher who could give you proper instruction, according to such rules as dark magic has, and one who could devote enough time to your training. I… I have a mission, and I travel a lot from country to country. The roads of Tellius are not a fit place for a child such as you."

The boy was downcast. "I know. I get it."

Sephiran could not leave it at that. His was and always would be a father's heart, and he could not say no to the sad little face of a child.

The ex-heron looked up at the lieutenant, who, though his task was complete, had continued to linger several feet away, watching the exchange with muted fascination. "I would venture that there is an alchemy shop or another gathering place for dark mages in this town?" Sephiran ventured.

"The Green Cauldron," answered the lieutenant promptly. "Go down to the end of the block and take the next two lefts. A wooden sign hangs over the door. Ask someone if you cannot find it, but the stench alone should be enough to locate the place."

"Hmm." Sephiran's gaze drifted down to the boy's hand, still tightly clutching the Worm tome. He addressed the darkness spirit again. _Your host is in no fit condition for a test by a potential instructor at the moment._

_That is so_, said the spirit emotionlessly.

_You would rather have him trained?_

_Naturally. Souls are much tastier when they have been seasoned by several decades of dedicated, high-level magic._

Sephiran almost pulled a wry face at that. Nevertheless, he observed, _You are not a very malevolent darkness spirit. You could have been much more unreasonable._

_I am dark and chaotic, true, but I have never been designated 'evil'_. A ripple of amusement seemed to pass through the spirit's magical presence. _Not that those designations are always accurate, of course..._

I_ can trust you to look after your host for as long as your pact remains intact? _he asked.

_That will be until the end of his mortal life, or if he somehow manages to untangle the pact, which is nigh impossible, _stated the spirit. _Yes, I will look after him. I have to. The pact binds our life-forces together. _

_Very well, then. What is your name, spirit?_

There was a moment's pause. Then Sephiran received an impression of a cloudy, black and purple haze, a wraithlike figure floating amid it, yellow slits of eyes remote and calculating, dusky elfin features amused and condescending. _My name is Olus._

_I shall not forget you, Olus. Now, to tend to your host…_

Sephiran considered himself equally fortunate that he could rattle off a mental communication with a spirit, such as this conversation, in a matter of a few seconds of physical time. Otherwise, others around him would have been wondering why he stared into space for so long a period of time. "Well," he said to the boy, "you are not in a condition to try a beginner's exam for dark magic, but I shall try to put in a good word for you. Hopefully, you shall find a master soon. Your talents are promising. Here… I think this should go to you."

He tapped the Worm tome. The boy blushed as he realized he was still holding it, and ashamedly offered it back. Sephiran shook his head. "No. You can have it."

"I-I couldn't!" protested the boy. "Tomes cost so much!"

"I make all my own tomes," said Sephiran. "This one is lighter than most dark tomes. It is better suited for you. Besides, it lit up when you touched it. You should have it. At very least, your spirit seems to think so."

The boy looked thoughtful. To the spirit, Sephiran added, _Don't make me list the consequences if you allow him to activate the tome for anything other than self-preservation._

_It is hardly in my best interests to allow him to blow himself up, _the spirit agreed calmly. Sephiran reminded himself again that spirits never saw matters the same way that mortal people - shortsighted bags of organs, as the spirits usually thought of them - would.

"How did you come to be a Spirit Charmer, child?" asked Sephiran.

"I wanted the other kids to stop teasing me," said the boy. "I watch dark sages at the Green Cauldron sometimes. I listen to what they say. I memorized some of the spells. I don't know how… The words just stuck. I heard a voice talking to me sometime. It wasn't a person voice. It offered a way to protect myself. So I said yes. But I haven't heard the voice since. I guess I'm not very good at this…"

"The more you know of magic, the more you shall be able to hear your spirit's voice, I think," said Sephiran. "In the meanwhile, talking to your spirit is a big step. Try it sometime. His name is Olus."

"Olus," repeated the boy solemnly. "Can you hear him?"

"Of course. Sometimes I think I hear more spirits than I hear people. Well, I think it is time to get you back to where you came from. You need to get cleaned up." Sephiran stood up, still holding the child, and found that the lieutenant had remained standing nearby, although his two subordinates seemed to have vanished.

"He lives at the orphanage," the lieutenant offered. "It's just down the street from our barracks. I am bound in that direction, anyway. I can take him there, if he doesn't mind."

The blue-haired boy watched the lieutenant warily for several seconds. He did not seem very inclined to leave the shelter of the first person who had stepped in to save him from the wrath of the multitude. However, the lieutenant had also intervened and backed Sephiran up. The boy had seen the lieutenant a few times before, and he had heard the ladies who ran the orphanage say that he was an honorable man. He didn't want to inconvenience the sage anymore, either, who had already been so kind to him as to give him a Worm tome.

Sephiran considered the lieutenant, too. He had lost most of his laguz abilities, but not all, and he remained very sensitive to the state of other individuals' minds and hearts. The present lack of a tumultuous mini-mob and the corresponding negative energy around them helped matters as Sephiran evaluated the guard carefully. The man seemed honest and willing to help.

"Perhaps he could take you back to the orphanage, and I could go put in a good word for you with a couple dark sages?" suggested Sephiran gently.

This proposition was acceptable, and Sephiran transferred the boy to the lieutenant. The boy clutched his new Worm tome tightly. "Thank you for this!" he said, waving to Sephiran. "I'll take good care of it, I promise! I'll be the best dark sage ever, someday, just watch. Dark Sage Pelleas, that's what I'll be!"

"I'll bet," murmured the lieutenant, amused. "Well, let's get you back home. Those ladies are probably worried sick over you." He glanced back at Sephiran. "Thank you, lord sage, for saving him. Good day."

It was then that Sephiran noticed. His attention until then had been focused primarily on the boy, Pelleas, perhaps understandably. Now, however, his blunted laguz senses were free to take stock of the rest of his surroundings. And they were screaming that there was something fundamentally _wrong_ about this man.

The lieutenant was one of the Branded. The smell, the sense of twisted genes, the dull magical presence with the colors of two different races spun together... It was unmistakable. He was himself what the townspeople of Osin had suspected Pelleas to be. Somewhere on his body, he bore a mark indicating his dual heritage.

In the same moment, the lieutenant noticed that Sephiran had noticed. He stiffened, almost imperceptibly, bracing himself for the condemnation that would come as surely as night followed day.

Condemnation was the farthest thing from Sephiran's mind. His heart went out to the man, who had to live each day in secret terror of his hated heritage being discovered. He wanted to stop and tell the man that the goddess had not cursed him for his mere existence, but such a conversation could not be had, not here out on the street.

Instead, he gave the man the saddest, gentlest smile. "Good day," he said simply.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

No, in case you're wondering, I never did mistake Sephiran for a girl myself while playing or researching the game. I never mistook Janaff for a girl, either. Or Soren. The only one I ever had a problem with was Lucius. I saw his picture and immediately thought, "Oh, they messed up. They accidentally swapped his picture with that of some girl." It took a while for me to accept that he was a guy. Then I rolled my eyes and went on with my life. I still say it would help if he cut his hair and stopped wearing a dress. Seriously. Even Sephiran looks manlier than Lucius.

(Lucius prepared me for Rafiel, so I didn't have any problems there. The name gave it away. Even so... I might have assumed otherwise that Lillia had come back to life somehow. I mean, really, IS...)

About Sephiran's clothes: Well, in Ike's flashback of his mother's death, Sephiran is not wearing the white robes he has as Prime Minister of Begnion, but rather dark-colored clothes. The sepia tones of the flashback rather annoyingly prevented me from figuring exactly what colors they were, so I made some guesses. Just go with it, lovelies. I think he deliberately went for a mishmash of color, anyways; he did not have the formal training of normal beorc magic users and so dressed how he pleased.

As far as the schools and guilds of magic deciding how the magic practitioners dressed, that's my best guess. I mean, really, why else do all the magic people of FE color coordinate? That, or it's a conspiracy on their part. XD All the fire people _must_ wear red, all the wind people _must_ wear green, etc. Sometimes even their hair color matches! What a weird world, when your hair color determines your magic type and your future clothes. XD

As far as magical teaching goes, I assume that in bigger cities and more developed nations (i.e., Begnion), they have official magical universities, like the Unseen University in Discworld. However, in more rural, undeveloped areas, it works more on a master-apprentice system. In the remote corner of Daein that Osin is set in, it's definitely the latter. I _suppose_ one could theoretically pick up a book and try to teach oneself, but I picture that (with or without the help of a possessor demon, like Olus) as mostly ending up in a magical explosion and bits of the would-be magic user scattered about the room. Not pretty.

If you haven't played the game through a few times, *SPOILERS* ahoy. You've been warned. I will probably not remember to give any more warnings in the future.

Also, there are very few rules given in the game for how Spirit Protection/Spirit Pact/whatever works, so I'm going with what seems plausible to me. I always assumed that Pelleas must have been a Spirit Charmer from a very young age, or Izuka would never have been able to pull of his grand scheme of Put A Fake Prince On The Throne Of Daein And Drag A Deranged Dragon Princess Into The Mix. It's terribly convenient that Pelleas's mark is like Soren's, isn't it? I'm assuming that, since it is a magical mark, it's extremely hard to tamper with using magic, so it really _is_ actually that shape. Dunno if the FE world has magical disguises or glamours. Now _that_ would be useful information, IS.

Oh, and did Pelleas ever realize (before the Tower) out that his 'mother' was an ex-laguz and and he was supposed to be considered, by her, a Branded? Apparently not. You'd think Almedha would have accidentally dropped something pertaining to that. Although I don't think it's ever referenced, surely she believed Pelleas had the mark from birth, as I assume Soren had. Then again, I have my own theories on why Pelleas is so scatter-brained and completely accepts everything Izuka says (more on that later... okay, you'll have to wait for the author notes from a later chapter. Sorry). If he ever realized something, Izuka probably memory-blocked or memory-wiped him. That sounds like the sort of power a ruthless dark magic user like himself could and would do.

Yes, Pelleas is starting out with a C in dark magic. I wasn't sure what else to give him. As justification, I'm just saying that that is the level of magic granted to him by the Spirit Pact - i.e., that is the amount of Olus's magic he is able to access with no further training or development of his own magic and his 'bond' to Olus, etc. (Yes, I gave Olus that name. You'd think that if a character had a magical, immortal being gnawing on his soul, they might be bothered to talk about this and give him/it/whatever a name. Apparently not.) I also think that Izuka would not have taught Pelleas much actual magic. That might have made him independent, ya know.

Anyway, I'll ramble more on the subject of Pelleas and Izuka later. I'm not sure if that's a promise or a threat. XD

So this chapter marks the second big change to the timeline (the first being Sephiran's decision _not_ to destroy the world via insane goddess). The ramifications of saving Pelleas, however, will take up a few chapters. Also, we have someone else thrown into the mix. Bonus points if you guess who the lieutenant is. XD Shouldn't be too hard - I'm not trying to be _overly_ mysterious here. Okay, a little mysterious. But not too much.

Spinner here, signing out.


	9. At the Green Cauldron

**Dawn of Balance**

* * *

_Life is a matter of balance. Order and chaos are both necessary, like the two halves of a whole. Without the chaos and darkness of the night that is finished and the order and light of the day that is to come a dawn cannot exist._

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not Intelligent Systems. I do not own Fire Emblem. End of story.

* * *

At the Green Cauldron

As the lieutenant had indicated, the Green Cauldron was not hard to find.

Sephiran followed the man's directions, dodging the noonday traffic on the streets. As he took the second left, he glanced at the wooden signs hanging over the doorways, more as a formality than anything else. He could sense the presence of other magic users quite well, and a concentration of them could only mean one thing.

An onlooker might have wished that the wooden sign for the Green Cauldron was slightly less lifelike. The sign-maker had meticulously etched in the wood the design of a cauldron bubbling with some liquid, and then painted it, with red flames underneath the iron cauldron and green froth foaming over the sides of the pot. Little chunks of something - it was probably better not to think about _what_ - appeared to be floating in the liquid. Familiar as he was by now with the practices of some quack alchemists, Sephiran thought the depiction to be pretty apt.

The heavy oaken door of the shop was closed, the brass handle corroded as if acid had been splashed upon it. The wooden planks of the door itself were burnt in several patches, as if an irate druid had hit it a time or two with a Fire tome. The window, however, had been cranked open, and the horrible smell of various potions bubbling drifted outwards. The townspeople covered their mouths and noses with a handkerchief or pulled up the collar of their tunic as they walked past. However, they did not complain any more than that: the potions the alchemist was brewing would be made into the elixirs, concoctions, panaceas, and common vulneraries they would buy to treat their wounds and ailments.

Bracing himself, Sephiran edged the door of the Green Cauldron open and stepped inside.

The interior was a bewildering array of mishmash items, not all related to the practicing of dark magic. In one corner, druid robes hung from pegs, price tags clipped to their sleeves. Near the window, laid out in apparently no order on some stained tables, sat various trinkets - Ashera Icons (always useful to unlucky dark sages and druids deployed against unbelievably lucky heroes), Arms Scrolls, a lone Red Gem, and a stack of Specter Cards.

Beyond them, stacked neatly upon shelves, were dark and anima tomes for sale. Sephiran's gaze whipped over the selection. He was rather impressed with the offerings, especially considering that Osin was a small town. A small town with a dedicated group of dark mages, apparently. There was even a Verrine tome, as well as a Meteor tome, the latter on sale for only 700 gold, for druids who just couldn't resist the urge to rain down gigantic fireballs of doom upon their enemies from afar, likely while cackling evilly the whole time.

Sephiran had no intentions of ever acquiring a Meteor tome.

He walked around a basket of vulneraries towards the back of the shop. A sort of greenish haze, like the smoke of pipes that hung perpetually under the rafters in a taproom but worse, clung to the exposed wooden beams overhead. From the beams strings of alchemical ingredients hung, along with bundles of food - onions, corn still in the husk, sausages. Sephiran did not think it would be a wise choice to buy food from this place. He just did not.

A rumble of masculine voices came from the rear of the shop. A couple of men stood leaning against a counter, one in druid robes and the other in the robes of a dark sage.

The druid was smoking a pipe and holding forth about the advantages of versatility in being able to use anima magic in addition to dark magic. This was of particular importance when being chased by pesky bishops from Palmeni Temple who accused them of necromancy, he said.

The dark sage, who had seemingly heard this argument many times before, merely nodded and made agreeable noises at all the appropriate times. His smile indicated that he had no intentions of donning the fringed robes with the overlong sleeves and picking up a Wind or a Fire tome anytime soon, however.

Behind the counter stood an old man in dark blue and black garments, his thatch of white hair a bright counterpoint to his dimly lit shop. He was busily attending to a set of several small cauldrons, stirring them with bronze and silver rods and tipping in a carefully measured teaspoon of the next ingredient. Though he seemed shriveled by age and his cheeks were sunken, his hands were steady as he went about his precise business.

The dark sage at the counter looked up as Sephiran approached. He observed him with neither hostility nor fear, but with a calm that indicated he was confident in his own abilities and did not feel threatened by the presence of other sages. He had dark hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. His gray eyes had the look of a scholar in them - one used to sizing up ancient mysteries and delighting in finding the answers.

"I haven't seen you in these parts before," said the dark sage, "but you look as if you know your way around some high-level tomes. The magic in the room went crazy when you stepped through the door."

"This is my first time to visit Osin, yes," said Sephiran. "As for high-level tomes, it depends on which type."

Taking the pipe out of his mouth, the druid turned lazily to lean with his back against the counter. In contrast to his dark-haired friend, the druid had a thick shock of golden-brown hair, complete with round hazel eyes and a full beard. He eyed Sephiran a moment before returning the pipe to his mouth and commenting around it, "Not a druid. Shame."

"Full of himself ever since he first got his hands on a Fire," muttered the dark sage under his breath.

"You don't wear dark sage garments," the druid continued. "At least, not proper ones. If you're not from around here, that might explain it – different schools and all. Still… something about you… it doesn't add up. You sure you don't use anything other than dark tomes? I could see you with a Wind. Very precise, those tomes. Very fast. Not as much fun as a Meteor, of course – don't tell Abby I said that, Avyn-, but there _is_ something to say for shoving a Tornado spell up the tax collector's nose. Do you use Wind tomes?"

"Berkeley, stop being so nosy!" the dark sage groaned, facepalming at his friend's lack of tact.

"No, I'm afraid not," answered Sephiran.

"Fire? Thunder, even? Not very accurate, but great fun, Thunder tomes are."

"No, and no."

"Aww. You should really try them! Anima tomes make for great versatility," declaimed Berkeley, waving his pipe around as he gestured to emphasize his point.

"No, no, no! Stop it, Berkeley, stop it! Cartus will kick us out of his shop since you scare away half of his customers with your druid-proselytizing!" The dark sage pulled a stool out from under the counter. "Now sit here and smoke your pipe and be quiet until he's finished brewing your elixir!"

With all the air of a sullen child, Berkeley sat down on the stool and puffed smoke rings into the air.

The dark sage turned apologetically to Sephiran. "My apologies. He's like this all the time, I'm afraid. We've known each other a long time. He had an older brother who joined the priesthood, Berkeley did…"

Berkeley snorted. "The pompous windbag. Just because Bernard makes healing staves for the Temple, he thinks that makes him automatically holy and superior to everyone else. Is it any wonder I want to show him up? He has a fireball to the face coming, I tell you."

"…And so Berkeley's a little obsessed," finished the dark sage. "My apologies, again. My name is Avyn." He offered a polite bow.

Sephiran returned the bow. "I am called Sephiran."

"This is Cartus, here," said Avyn, indicating the white-haired man behind the counter, "who runs the Green Cauldron inn. It's been in his family for decades. We're regulars in here. In fact, pretty much every dark magic user in this area comes here for what they need - tomes, vulneraries for inevitable accidents, the odd staff. Or for the company of fellow dark mages and the conversation, although if Berkeley's present the talk tends to be rather one-sided."

"You just don't know what a joy dropping a Meteor on your mother-in-law is," said Berkeley from his perch on the stool.

"Yes, yes, whatever, Berkeley," said Avyn, flapping a dismissive hand at him. "I'm sure I'll find out when I _get_ a mother-in-law. And I'll try not to get one like yours."

"More like monster-in-law…" Berkeley muttered.

Behind the counter, Cartus smirked a little as he took a small cauldron off the flames and set it on a tripod to cool.

"Your elixir will be ready soon, Berkeley," said the shopkeeper, his voice as steady as his hands even in his old age. "Just to your specifications, as always. Eight doses, just like a vulnerary." From a shelf over his stove of cauldrons he selected a small bottle wrapped in blue paper, opening a drawer with his other hand and withdrawing a ladle without looking. Sephiran imagined that, after having worked in the shop all his life, Cartus would know precisely where everything was and could carry out his daily tasks blindfolded.

Avyn chuckled. "Berkeley likes an elixir with lots of uses," he said. "I suppose it's because he finds himself in a lot of accidents with those Fire tomes of his."

"You didn't have to bring that up, Avyn!"

"Hahaha. Just teasing, Berkeley. Be that as it may, did you come here looking for something, Master Sephiran? While Cartus is busy with his potions, I can point out all the stuff here," said Avyn. "Or did you just come looking for some interaction with other dark mages? Goddess knows we have to band together; they're so few of us and almost everyone misunderstands us or hates us."

Sephiran pondered what to say next. The matter of Pelleas was much more important, of course. Perhaps he should bring it up first? In the back of his mind, he kept seeing the boy with his blue curls and his big pleading eyes, silently begging to learn and be taken in and loved. He would not rest easily until he saw the boy in good hands.

However, finding Pelleas a caretaker and, hopefully, a master he could learn from could take hours or even days to resolve. He did not know how things stood with the dark magical community in Osin yet.

Asking if the shopkeeper would be interested in purchasing any tomes would take far less time, on the other hand. He could take care of that business in a few minutes, and then proceed to the matter of Pelleas without forgetting anything. Yes, that would work.

"I have two purposes in come here, really," said Sephiran. "The first is perhaps more easily explained." Taking a step closer to the counter, Sephiran addressed Cartus, who was ladling the cooled elixir into its bottle. "Do you buy custom tomes?"

"That depends," said Cartus, not looking up from his careful work. "Avyn here is a fairly gifted tomebinder and I buy most of my dark tomes from him. I have to have anima tomes shipped here from magic schools in other towns. I don't deal much in light tomes, since anyone who wishes to purchase one would look first at Palmeni Temple instead of coming here."

Berkeley grumbled around his pipe at the mention of Palmeni Temple.

"Dark tomes," said Sephiran. "I do a bit of tomebinding myself. I do a lot of traveling, so it is a way to cover expenses. I have bound all the dark tomes up to Verrine."

"Only to Verrine? I do not blame you in the least," said Avyn. "The main SS-rank tome, Balberith…" He shuddered. "You could not pay me enough gold to try binding that tome. Baal is not a darkness spirit; he's a fiend. I have seen Balberith being cast, and I will not be disappointed if I never see it again."

"Indeed," said Cartus levelly. He put the stopper in the elixir bottle and wrapped the blue paper covering up with twine, placing it on the counter. Berkeley stood up from his stool and handed over a few high-denomination gold coins, which Cartus took without checking the amount. Berkeley picked up the elixir bottle and stepped away from the counter, tapping his pipe thoughtfully, but he made no motion to leave the shop.

Cartus placed his hands flat, palms down, on the counter. "I cannot guarantee that I will buy anything, young master, but I'll have a look," he said. "There is a strong dark magic community around here, so I have no worries about not selling any dark tomes I buy."

Sephiran slipped his bookbag from his shoulder. Tomebinding was a hard and quite dangerous process, one few magic users ever tried to attempt. Even most archsages were content to buy their high-ranked tomes at whatever exorbitant prices the dealers charged rather than try to forge their own tomes.

Tomebinding was so dangerous due to the fundamental nature of magic itself. All magic was regulated by the spirit world, the origin of magic, and most beings of flesh and blood simply did not have the personal magic required to do the things they wished to do with it. The earliest magic had consisted of gifted mortals forging pacts with spirits, making some sacrifice in order to temporarily borrow the spirits' power. The spirits were not always agreeable, and they flatly refused to assist anyone who would not speak to them in their own tongue, the ancient language that the herons had spoken.

So tomes had been invented. Tomes were basically books of incantations, each one a petition in the ancient language to forge a temporary pact with a spirit to borrow its power in a specific spell. Using tomes, a mortal who could not speak the ancient language but who could at least learn to pronounce the words on the page could learn to use his magic to wield the magic of the spirits. Few mortal mages bothered themselves to learn the grammar and vocabulary of the ancient language anymore - no doubt due in part to its fiendishly irregular verbs and intricate prefixes and suffixes-, and so they did not know how to speak to the spirits without a book in hand.

(A few unscrupulous tome-dealers had taken advantage of this fact to bind tomes full of, not polite requests of the spirits to borrow their power, but insults to various deities and spirits. Mages who used these tomes were predictably struck down by lightning, the favorite weapon of offended immortals. At least in Begnion, various monasteries and schools of magic had stepped in to regulate the tomebinding business in order to avert such disasters.)

To bind a tome, a sage or archsage (mere mages were never allowed to bind tomes) had to know the ancient language well enough to craft an incantation to the spirits. Many different formulas for incantations existed, all of which worked, but some of which worked better for different spirits and types of magic than others. The tomebinder had to know the runes the ancient language was written in. Most importantly, he had to chant the incantation as he wrote it, forming a temporary bond with the spirit himself and sealing the power of the spirit inside the tome with the runes he wrote. That way, a mage who picked up the tome would be able to use his own, smaller magic to activate the incantation, which would forge a temporary bond between himself and the particular spirit, granting him the power for a spell.

It was hardly surprising that tomes were so heavy when they were practically glued together with magic.

Sephiran had taken to tomebinding with insane ease. The ancient language had been the only tongue he had spoken for millennia, and he had seen the runes it was written in evolve from rough scratches on bark to the fine penmanship now showcased on the finest of parchments. His ability to easily speak with the spirits and his blessing from Ashunera ensured that the process of infusing power in the tomes was not as dangerous for him as it was for others.

His main motive in tomebinding was, indeed, to cover the expenses of his travels, but he could not deny that he truly enjoyed the craft. His tomes were always works of art. The borders of the pages were filled with colorful designs and pictures, and the covers glowed with paint. He liked to challenge himself, too, so he would often try to see if he could make his own tomes lighter than the average tome of that type, or have more uses or pack a bigger punch.

Suffice it to say, he had not bought a tome for his own use in quite a while. In addition to the relics he had brought from Goldoa, he had bought a few to begin with, to study their structure and style, and had discarded them when he found them inferior.

Now he kept a small arsenal of his own tomes with him at all times. He still preferred light tomes, for he could not shake his heron preference of order, and light magic was fundamentally order magic. Ellight had become his all-purpose tome, with Purge for the occasional long distance shot and Shine for when he was particularly irritated. He disliked Valaura and Nosferatu. Light magic, he felt, should definitely not poison, nor should it drain the life out of other individuals. He had not been able to locate a copy of Resire, the less twisted version of Nosferatu, but he still wished to find it and duplicate it – it seemed to have promise. Plain Nosferatu and Valaura, though, he had promised himself never to use. Not only were they tainted magic, they were the favored tomes of two of the most loathsome humans in Tellius whom he had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

He had in fact crafted a Rexaura tome, but was still searching for a suitably auspicious occasion for which he could use it for the first time.

Outside of light tomes, Sephiran had only ventured so far to dark tomes, and that mostly in order to research what might have befallen Empress Misaha. He had no doubts that he was quite capable of binding fire, thunder, and wind tomes, and had considered it more than once just to prove that he could. The preciseness and orderliness of wind tomes almost appealed to him, which he found quite strange as a heron. His feelings were more neutral towards thunder tomes, and fire tomes only reminded him of the flames that had engulfed Serenes Forest that terrible night.

No, Sephiran would not touch a fire tome if his life depended on it.

Taking them one by one out of his bookbag, Sephiran laid three Worm tomes, a Fenrir, and a Verrine tome on the counter. He had a few other tomes that he had saved for special occasions, copies of very rare and valuable tomes from previous ages, such as Flux and Luna. He had tested the Flux out himself, so he knew it, at least, worked as well as the low-level magic it contained promised. Luna boded to be a more powerful tome, and he would not sell one to other unsuspecting dark sages until he had first tested it. It just did not seem right.

Unless it was one of those senators from Begnion. With a bit of very un-heron-like vindictiveness, Sephiran would have gladly handed over to them a defective dark tome and gleefully observed the destructive results from a safe distance.

Cartus picked up one of the Worm tomes and turned it over in his hands, flipping rapidly through the pages with a thumb, scanning the contents. He grunted quietly, letting his fingers rest on the painted cover. "You obviously spend a lot of time on these. Few tomebinders bother to illuminate all the interior pages," he said.

Avyn leaned over the counter to get a glimpse of the tome. As Cartus examined the Fenrir, the dark sage said grudgingly, "You've done a good job with these, Master Sephiran."

"This one is lighter than usual, too," said Cartus, hefting the Fenrir. "They average around 20 thaumic weight. This one is, I'd say… about 17 thaumic weight."

"Niiiiice," said Berkeley from behind them. He edged forward to peer over Avyn's shoulder. "And it's a long range tome. I love long range tomes. Raining death from afar… priceless. I'll take it, if no one else wants it. It's not a Meteor, but I'm not one to pass up on a deal. How much do you want for it?"

The going rate for a Fenrir was around 1500 gold. Berkeley was amazed when Sephiran did not press for a few hundred more gold than that.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," he said. "Don't mistake me. Just… wow. The next time you have custom lightweight tomes for sale, my man, let me know. _Especially_ if you ever decide to go into anima magic. I would totally give 1000 gold for a lightweight Meteor tome. Then I could double that nagging mother-in-law of mine while she's still at the end of the driveway."

"That's not a good reason to want a lightweight tome, Berkeley!" said Avyn, gesturing in his distress.

Cartus ignored their antics. "Normally," he said, "I would not buy tomes from someone who walked in off the street. However, many years of dealing with tomes has given me the ability to distinguish between a good piece of work and a shoddy book. These are of high quality. I have no doubts that I will be able to sell them - oh, don't give me that face, Avyn, you know I'll still depend on your tomebinding for the majority of my goods-, so I'm willing to bargain."

After a bit of haggling, 11300 gold and three Worm and one Verrine tomes were exchanged.

Berkeley, who had stayed to watch this little interchange, tapped his pipe. "Well," he announced, "gotta run. Abby's probably already wondering where in Tellius I am. The kids are probably driving her up the wall. Nice meeting you, Master Sephiran. Take care, Avyn, Cartus. See you again in… oh, probably a week. You know me."

He strode to the door, dodging the basket of vulneraries in his way. Just as he was about to lay his hand on the door handle, he paused, glancing out the dusty window. His gulp was audible as he fairly jumped backwards, almost dropping the elixir he held.

"Ah, Cartus…? Can I go hide in your back storeroom?" he asked, his voice rising with uneasiness.

Avyn quickly stood up straight, robes snapping around him as his magic jerked to alertness, ready to cast a spell. "What is it, Berkeley? Another pack of bishops from Palmeni Temple ready to try to arrest us all for necromancy again?"

"I wish," said Berkeley, continuing to back away from the door.

Something in his tone of voice communicated something to Cartus and Avyn that it did not pass on to Sephiran.

"Oh, dear goddess, not _him_," muttered Avyn, scowling.

Cartus said nothing, but swept his newly acquired tomes off the counter and out of sight, arranging his features into what amounted to a polite grimace.

The door burst open.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Ahahahaha! Cliffhanger! Yes, I am so evil. I never knew being evil would be so much fun. Ahahaha.

Anyway.

Welcome to my second batch of OC's! You remember Misaha's family, yes? Well, let me introduce you to the dark magical community of Osin. I have tried hard to invent backstories for them and motivations, so that they will seem like real people seamlessly interacting with Sephiran and the rest of Tellius instead of glittering Mary Sues or boring cardboard cut-outs.

I have a lot more information about this gang, but I can't tell you right now. Spoilers! However, do note that you haven't met them _all_ yet. Hint, hint. We'll be spending a few chapters with them to get the Pelleas arc resolved (other matters may also be resolved along the way), so please bear with my OC's. If you absolutely loathe them, by all means write an angry review telling me so. If I'm doing something wrong, I definitely want to know so I can improve and fix these things.

As far as how tomes work and how they are made, I made it all up. These are just my theories, influenced rather heavily by the manga for Marth's game(s). If the explanations don't make sense, shoot me a question or rant about it in the review box and I'll try to make it all better.

In other news, my lovelies, I'd like you to know that every time I see that _Dawn of Balance_ has been read, reviewed, favorited, or followed, I squee and spin around in circles. You make me do a happy dance. So thank you all.

Spinner here, signing out.


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